With All Due Respect
by Saintsavory
Summary: Piper Chapman is the most powerful woman in the world and finds herself attracted to another woman, but she cannot pursue a romantic relationship and expect to continue a career in politics.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This story has been percolating in my head as the political scene in the US heats up before the 2020 presidential election. I didn't know exactly how to connect the dots between Alex and Piper at first, and then it hit me, so I began writing about three months ago. It stands at roughly 200 pages, so it's a long one.

In this fictitious world, Trump never existed. I know enough about US government to get by, but by no means am I an expert on how bills/laws get passed. There are bound to be procedural errors in this story and things that would never happen in the real world, but I hope you can look past them and enjoy the tale for what it is. Also, I'm going to label this OOC. Finally, a HUGE thanks to my beta, IrishViking20. She has helped me think deeply about character roles and overall flow of this somewhat complicated story.

I'll post a chapter every two days or so except on weekends. Hope you enjoy...

* * *

Although I enjoyed history and government classes in school, I had no political aspirations. I only followed politics in election years or when something terrible happened in the world when almost every other American tuned in to the news right along with me. Law school seemed appealing from an altruistic standpoint—I could defend the less fortunate and marginalized—but it was also a way for me to buy three more years to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life.

It wasn't until clerking for a local judge during my second year of law school when my appetite became whet for justice. In my last year of law school, I interned for the Civil Rights & Justice League where I learned about fellowships I could apply for even before passing the Bar Exam. Ultimately, I was granted the Christine A. Brunswick Taxation Public Service Fellowship where I discovered the need for tax service assistance for low income families around the country. While it wasn't glamorous, it opened my eyes to the poverty cycle in America and helped me understand the concept of privilege.

Over the next three years, I broadened my political and professional scope from taxation issues to gun control to women's rights, which ultimately led to a job in the Stamford mayor's office where I first served as a research analyst and then became a policy advisor. By the ripe age of 30, I ran for City Council where I served three years as chair of the Housing, Health, Energy & Workers' Rights committee and vice chair of the Gender Equity, Safe Communities & Education committee. With the encouragement of the mayor and support of the governor, I put in a bid to run for Connecticut State Senate.

I won.

Along the way, I met Larry Bloom, a writer for _The Stamford Advocate_. He made me laugh, was a good conversationalist and supported my political aspirations. It didn't hurt that he came from a wealthy New York family with a clean past and a promising future. I was happy enough and the optics were good, so I married him. It was the practical thing to do.

By my second term in the Senate, the sizzle was gone (if ever it were there), but Larry and I were comfortable with the way things stood. We looked good in photographs and were even featured on the cover of a few magazines. He provided excellent sound bites to the media, and on the outside, we looked like the perfect married couple who were trying to start a family—at least that's what we told the world.

* * *

"I don't want to have kids," I blurted out one late night as I packed my suitcase for what would be my first dinner at the White House.

Larry crawled into bed. "And you feel the need to bring this up at quarter to midnight the day before your trip?"

"There's never been a good time to mention it."

"This isn't something you _mention_, Piper," he huffed. "It's something we discuss as husband and wife."

I gave him a look—he knew how much I hated it when he referred to me as his wife in private. I'd explained it to him before—it felt like I was his possession.

"You were pregnant, Piper…"

"Yes, and I lost the baby…twice." I placed a few more items into my suitcase. "It's like the universe is telling me I'm not supposed to have children."

"Is that really what you think? That there's some cosmic force denying you the chance to be a mother?"

"Maybe." I zipped the suitcase, placed it on the floor and sat on the bench at the foot of our bed. "It just doesn't feel right."

I knew what was coming next. His face contorted and he tilted his head slightly. It's his _I'm going to say something asinine _look. "Did you feel that way when you had a fetus growing inside of you?"

I didn't answer his question not because I couldn't, but because I didn't want to wound him with my response. The first time I got pregnant was on our honeymoon and it was a total surprise. The pregnancy only lasted ten weeks—not long enough for me to prepare for how I envisioned myself as a mother. The second time, Larry and I agreed to try, but my heart was never in it. I wanted to have children because _that's what women do_. It wouldn't have hurt from a political angle either. That pregnancy lasted 12 weeks, and truth be told, I was relieved after the miscarriage. I struggled with that emotion for a long time—being _relieved_ that I lost a child—but eventually I convinced myself that it was ok not to be a parent.

I couldn't find the words to answer Larry's question; instead, I moved to my side of the bed and turned off the lamp. "It's late. I have an early flight."

"That's it?" He was still sitting up in bed. "That's the end of the conversation?"

I pulled the sheets over me. "Yes."

"You can be so fucking selfish."

My back was turned to him, but I felt the mattress dip and figured he laid down and turned away from me.

Just like there never seemed to be a good time to talk about having a family, there was never going to be a good time to tell him something I'd been thinking about for the past five years. "I'm going to run for President."

I felt him roll over. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to run for President," I repeated, still with my back to him.

"President of what?"

A smile crossed my face as I said it aloud for the first time. "President of the United States."

"Have you lost your mind? Running for the Senate is one thing, but _President of the fucking country_?"

I sat up, twisting my neck, halfway staring at him in the dark. "Do I have your support?"

"First the whole not wanting to have children thing and now you're running for President? What has gotten into you tonight? Did you get high without me knowing?"

Sharing a bed with Larry felt wrong that night, so I pulled on my robe and proceeded to the bedroom doorway, flicking on the hall light. "Think about it while I'm away for the next couple of days. I can't do this without you."

I didn't define what that last line meant, but if Larry was as smart as I hoped he was, he'd know I meant it as a political statement not as a loving one. If he didn't support my run for President, that would likely lead to divorce, and no one would get elected to the White House as a single, newly divorced candidate. It would be hard enough to be elected as the first female President, but a _recently_ _divorced woman_ would be the death nail.

* * *

"Madam President, you really need to get dressed."

I glance up from my briefing book and find my personal aide glancing at her watch. "I thought you said I had another hour, Chris?"

"It's been one hour and four minutes, ma'am." She nods towards the grandfather clock. "Make that one hour and five minutes."

"We're no closer to new gun control laws than we were two years ago." I slam the book shut. "I've got Byron climbing down my neck and a whole swath of Democrats wondering if I'm going to make good on my campaign promise."

Chris helps me into my blazer. "We're close…I can feel it."

I breeze through the hallways, flanked by a Secret Service agent and three staffers. I've long since abandoned the idea of walking anywhere alone.

"Where's Larry?"

"Probably schmoozing with other journalists," Chris answers. "You know how much he loved last year's Correspondents' Dinner."

"I probably don't need to remind you this, Madam President, but you need to enter the room together," my Communications Director, Warren Tharler, states.

"Then find him." I enter my bedroom alone, closing the door and leaning heavily against it.

"You have 20 minutes, ma'am," she calls.

I glance around the expansive bedroom, wondering when was the last time I slept with my husband. It had to be a year ago, maybe longer. Larry's bedroom is next to mine and there's an adjoining door in case we're ever in a situation when we need to appear to be leaving "our" bedroom together. That issue hasn't presented itself, but we're prepared if it does. My closest staff members know that Larry and I are only husband and wife on paper, but they dare not bring it up even in private. I trust them implicitly, and I've never worried about any of them leaking such a potential landmine.

I kick off my shoes and pad over to the armoire where my glittery ball gown is draped on a hanger. I rub the material between my fingers, wondering how much this dress costs. I haven't seen a bill for anything in the two years I've been President, but my guess is there's never a bill for a gown even if it _was_ custom designed by Vera Wang.

As I unbutton my blouse, two Secret Service agents come barreling through my bedroom door.

"What the hell?"

One of the agents speaks into her wrist band, "The President is secure."

Chris rushes in behind them. "Madam President, thank God you're alright."

"What's going on?"

Three other agents hastily enter the room, each walking to a different window or door, feeling around the edges. Another agent enters Larry's room.

I slice my hands through the air. "Can someone please tell me what the fuck is happening?"

The head of my security detail enters the room. I've known Agent Paulson since day one in the White House. I also know if he's been called in, something serious is going on.

"There's been an incident, Madam President," he says with a stoic face. "I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Bloom has been shot."

I step back, hand flying to my mouth. "Is he ok?"

"They're taking him to the hospital." He bows his head.

"Oh my God." I collapse onto an armchair. "What happened?"

"He was at the Capitol Lounge with a few journalists before tonight's Correspondents' Dinner," Agent Paulson replies. "Four of them walked out together and a spray of bullets rang out from a moving vehicle."

I quickly get to my feet. "I have to see him."

He steps in front of me. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow that."

"My husband was just shot and you're telling me I can't see him?" I spit out.

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Not until we've secured the scene and ensure that the hospital is safe for you to enter."

"Aren't hospitals innately safe?" I spin around, covering my mouth again. I feel sick to my stomach.

"For the general public they are," he says. "Not necessarily for the President of the United States."

"That's ridiculous." I'm going to vomit, so I quickly head to the bathroom. "Get a car ready. I expect to be at the hospital within the hour."

* * *

By the time I arrive at the hospital, Larry is pronounced dead from a gunshot wound to the neck. I go numb as the head surgeon relays everything they did to try to revive him. _There was too much blood loss_ rings in my head like a two-ton bell.

For the next five days, I could hardly speak. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat and couldn't face the public. I couldn't be the President of the United States, and that was beginning to be a problem. My vice-President stepped in, a move I'm told the country expected and understood. The people who never wanted me in the White House to begin with, namely the Far Right, have their heyday, saying how weak I am—_this is why a woman should've never been elected to the highest position in the land_. I don't have the strength to fight back.

After nearly a week of mourning, I'm told that I have to make a statement; there's no circumventing it.

"With all due respect, Madam President, we have to come up with something in the next hour," Warren states.

"I can't do this with all of you in the room." I run a hand through my hair, eyeing the seven staffers standing around. "You're all excellent speech writers, but I can't do this."

"Very well, then. Who would you like to stay, ma'am?" he asks.

"You, Eileen and Jane. That's it."

Jane Hershberg has been my press secretary through the campaign and into my presidency. Before I even had an inkling that I'd run for President, Jane handled my communications in the Senate. Eileen O'Sullivan has been my chief of staff for two years, but we worked together in the Stamford's mayor's office way back when. I trust her even more than I trust Warren and Jane.

Eileen places her hand over mine. "I know this is difficult, Madam President, but Warren is right."

I shift my eyes from one staffer to the other. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything," she replies.

"I need you to call me Piper—I need you to _treat me_ like Piper. I can't be Madam President or ma'am or anything other than me right now."

"With all due respect…" Warren begins.

Jane sits next to me. "We're going to help you through this, Piper. I promise."

Warren and Eileen uncomfortably acquiesce. "Whatever you need."

I nod and take in a few deep breaths before diving in. "I'm _devastated_ Larry was killed," I begin with a shaky voice. "Even though we haven't been real partners in years, he stayed by my side; supported me." I grab a Kleenex and dab my eyes. "I'm struggling with the truth right now—I don't want to lie in a statement to the public about how much I loved him or how he was my source of inspiration or the man of my dreams. I mean, I loved him, but…"

"I know," Eileen whispers. "I know you loved him. We don't have to use any words of unyielding love. We can find a heartfelt way to express your grief."

Warren sits at the desk and starts writing furiously on a legal pad.

I turn to Jane. "Can you imagine how guilty I feel? I didn't love him the way a wife should love her husband. Why did I stay with him when he could've been so much happier with someone else?" Tears stream down my face.

"He had a choice—you didn't make him stay in this marriage."

"He knew if we separated or got divorced, there was no way I'd be elected," I sniff. "And after I became President, he stayed with me so we could pretend to be this happy couple. I shouldn't have allowed him to do that."

"Larry was a grown man. If he wanted out, he would've not only told you, but he would've pressured you to end things. You could've come up with an exit strategy." Eileen shakes her head. "He wanted to be with you."

"That makes this even harder." I lower my head and weep. "I was a horrible wife."

"You weren't a horrible wife." Jane, the more sensitive of the three, wraps her arms around me. "You're a grieving woman. You're allowed to cry and mourn the loss of your husband." She pulls back and lifts my chin until we're eye to eye. "You're also the President of the United States. You don't have the luxury of time."

I nod.

"I got it." Warren stands and reads the brief but earnest statement.

"That's about as good as it'll get." I walk towards the bathroom. "Thank you, Warren. I want to be alone for the next half hour, please."

Eileen and Jane slip back into form. "Yes, ma'am. I'll ask Chris to come get you in 30 minutes."

* * *

It takes me a while to get back into the swing of things. Instead of working 10 to 12 hours days, I can only manage eight at a time. I lean on my staff to take meetings I normally would've sat in on. It isn't until well after Larry's funeral when I'm able to fully govern again, though the grief is almost crippling at times.

For the next six months, my primary focus is on gun control. The Republicans hate it because I have a very real and personal leg to stand on, and the Democrats love it because I'm able to show strength as a widow who lost her husband to gun violence and vulnerability by getting emotional "at the right time." My emotions are raw and real when I debate the issue with anyone, but the right wingers constantly attack me for playing the sob card on national television.

"We're putting it on the floor next week." I turn the corner and head towards the Oval Office.

"Madam President, we don't have the votes," Eileen states.

"We're 22 votes shy; maybe 23," her deputy, Blake Latham adds. "If we don't get Carpenter and Rappaport, the bill dies on the floor."

I enter the Oval Office and spin around. "_This_ is the goal—this bill right here. You've had _months_ to secure the votes and you're telling me with one week to go, we're still 22 votes shy?"

"More like 23," the deputy repeats, adjusting his tie.

"Not good enough." I move behind my desk. "Figure it out."

"I'm bringing in someone from the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence this afternoon," Eileen offers. "Consider it a last-ditch effort."

"I've already met with Vince Booker. He doesn't have the clout everyone seems to think he has."

My executive secretary, 70-something-year-old Mrs. Willoughby, hands me my schedule for the day, and I see that my 3 o'clock appointment is with the CSGV.

"This meeting isn't with Booker," Eileen continues. "It's with Edwin Nowak, the executive director."

I write his name next to the appointment. "Does Mr. Nowak have more sway with the opposition than his boss?"

"I'm not sure." Eileen shrugs. "But it's worth a shot."

"I want you, Blake, Jane, and Warren in the room. If Marvin Beard is in town, get him in there, too." I open my laptop. "Spend a few minutes with this guy to see if he has any teeth. If he does, I'll join you." I turn to Mrs. Willoughby. "Adjust my schedule accordingly."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

It's a typical day in the White House—I go from one meeting to the next about homelessness, then healthcare, then disaster relief in Mississippi, then a potential airline pilot's strike, and then an hour in the Situation Room. At 3 p.m., I wrap up the meet & greet with the National Little League Softball Champions and finally have a moment to myself in the Oval Office.

"The folks from the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence are in the Roosevelt Room," Mrs. Willoughby announces, handing me the second revised schedule of the day. I usually go through three or four before dinner.

Chris breezes in with my afternoon smoothie. "Kale, strawberry, peaches and banana this time."

"Thank you." I take a sip of the chef's latest concoction. "Not bad." I turn to Mrs. Willoughby. "Are they meeting yet?"

"Last time I checked Blake was gathering everyone."

"God forbid any meeting start on time." I scan the new schedule. "Why am I meeting with Stephanie Horowitz?"

"Re-election stuff," she says. "You pushed this meeting back last week, remember?"

I toss the schedule aside. "I'd like to push it back another week."

"You _could_, but then you'd be a little behind, ma'am. The Republicans have already had three debates."

I sigh. "Fine but cut it to 30 minutes instead of 45. I can kiss re-election goodbye if I don't get this gun control bill passed."

The women leave, and I lean my head back, shutting my eyes. Since Larry's death, I've tried to use every spare moment to meditate. I don't have time for a ten minute, guided meditation, so it's usually moments like this when I can find two or three minutes to focus on my breathing without thinking about all that needs to get done. If I get three uninterrupted minutes during the day, I consider it a success.

I hear a knock on the door, and Blake peeks his head inside. "Madam President?"

"Come in, Blake."

"We're in the room with the folks from the CSGV." He steps inside. "I'm pretty impressed."

"_Folks_? I thought it was only the executive director…" I glance at my old schedule. "Edwin Nowak?"

"He brought an associate." His dimples surface.

"Why are you grinning?"

"She's uh…" His smile grows. "Well, she's…"

I lower a folder and give him an admonishing stare. "If you're about to say something other than how apparently brilliant she is, you'd be well-served by holding your thoughts."

"Yes, ma'am." He adjusts his posture and clears his throat. "We may have found our ace in the hole."

"Are you suggesting I enter the conversation?"

"Yes, ma'am. If you can spare 15 minutes, I think it'll be worth your time."

"Mrs. Willoughby?" I call through the open door.

"Your schedule is cleared for the next 20," she calls back.

"Ok, Blake. Lead the way."

Flanked by a Secret Service agent, I follow Blake down the corridor, make a right and then a left until we reach the Roosevelt Room. The door is ajar, and Blake slips inside, taking a seat across from the woman talking. I remain in the doorway, allowing her to finish the speech she appears to be in the middle of.

"…We all want to blame somebody. People on the Left blame every type of gun. Those on the Right blame Hollywood and violent video games. The real issue we can all agree on is that we have to end gun violence. _Period_. That's why I'm here. It's what I can convince people in power to do." She pauses and surveys the room. The woman clearly doesn't know I'm here, and I decide to let it remain that way for the time being.

"I'm not talking about taking away a deer hunter's rifle or a person's right to carry a concealed weapon. A friend of mine had a gun permit in her purse right next to her Glock. I wasn't raised around guns, so it made me uncomfortable. One day I asked if she wouldn't mind leaving the gun at home when we went out. She told me, 'This gun saved my life.' Minimally, I thought she was exaggerating, so I questioned her," the woman lets out a light laugh and then sobers.

"Amanda was walking home from the grocery store just after sunset. She turned down her quiet, residential street when two men in a car approached her. One got out, threw her grocery bags to the ground and started dragging her to the vehicle. She cried for help, but the driver turned the music louder. He pushed her into the back seat and started ripping her shirt off. Her purse was dangling on her arm, and she did everything she could to reach inside to get the gun. He sat up to unzip his pants, essentially to rape her, and she pulled her gun out and shot him."

Everyone in the room is silent.

"Without that gun, Amanda would've certainly been raped and possibly killed." She pauses. "I don't want to take away her right to carry a registered pistol. I do, however, want to take away the right for anyone to buy a semi-automatic weapon and 30+ rounds of ammunition." She pauses before stating very clearly, "Nothing good can come from owning assault rifles unless you're in the Armed Forces, defending the very country that gives us the right to bear arms."

Eileen grins, folding her arms. I signal for her and everyone else on that side of the room to not let on that I'm there.

"I think what she's saying is…" a man who I can only assume is Edwin Nowak begins.

"What I'm saying is if the President puts forth this bill, increasing background checks and banning all weapons, the whole wave of 'feeling sorry for her after losing her husband' sentiment goes right out the window. The Right will scream at the top of their lungs that she's using a personal issue to advance her own leftist agenda. Some of them might even accuse her of having her husband murdered."

A few people gasp.

"Common sense gun laws were gaining traction before Mr. Bloom was shot," she continues. "If the President goes all-in with a total weapons ban, she will not only lose votes, but she can also forget about being re-elected."

"Who says I'm running for a second term?" I step further into the room, arms folded.

The dark haired woman whips her head around, and her mouth hangs open when she realizes I'm standing there. "Madam President, I…" she starts to get up.

"Keep your seat." I place a hand on her shoulder. "This gun law isn't about getting me re-elected, Ms…"

"Vause," she states. "Alex Vause."

She's far too attractive to be a lobbyist—she looks more like an actress or even a model.

"This bill is about doing what's best for our country. Yes, my husband was murdered by a semi-automatic weapon, and yes, that will haunt me every day of my life, but my stance on gun control has far more to do with day-to-day violence in America than it does with losing Larry to a senseless act."

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss, ma'am," she replies, adjusting her glasses. "I'm also with you on gun control, but your bill takes it too far—at least for now. I don't think the Moderates will be on board, and if you lose even half of them, the bill won't survive."

"We have seven Moderates locked in," Blake offers.

"You'll need all ten," Alex responds. "And 13 Republicans for a total of 23 votes."

I eye Eileen, who then speaks up. "What are you coming to the table with, Ms. Vause?"

"If you modify the bill, I can get 20 of the 23 votes."

Everyone in the room raises their eyebrows and a few people huff at her audacity.

"I don't think anyone in this room has that kind of sway with Congress," I state.

She leans forward and meets my eye. "With all due respect, Madam President, I do."

I hear one of my staffers ask under his breath, _who is this woman_? I'd surely like to know.

"Alex, I'm not sure if promising 20 votes is in our purview," Edwin Nowak responds with a nervous grin. "We can certainly corral 12, maybe 13, but 20 is a tall order."

"You hired me for this specific issue, Edwin. Give me a chance."

This _Alex Vause_, whoever she is, is putting her reputation and her job on the line. It's one of the ballsyest moves I've ever seen.

"I'll work with my people to see if we can get the language changed within the next 48 hours. If the subcommittee agrees, you have yourself a deal." I stand, tug on my blazer, and reach out to shake her hand. "Nice meeting you, Ms. Vause."

She squeezes my hand. "It's an honor, Madam President."

I'm the first to exit, and Chris, Eileen and Blake are hot on my heels, all leading with, "_Madam President_…"

I hear each of them but refrain from commenting on my way back to the Oval Office, stopping by my executive assistant's desk along the way. "Mrs. Willoughby, will you find time for Alex Vause from the CSGV to meet with me tomorrow?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're not seriously considering changing the bill?" Blake asks as we head into my office. "We worked on this thing for six months!"

"I'm sure you can modify it in 48 hours." I unbutton my blazer and sit behind my desk. "It's not like I'm asking you to rewrite it."

"What kind of response do you think we'll get in such a short amount of time?" he continues, hands on his hips.

"Hopefully a positive one," I add.

"You can't let one woman's speech change an entire bill, Madam President!"

"That will be enough, Blake," Eileen states with a firm nod in his direction. "A partial gun ban isn't a new idea for this administration; it's something we've toyed with over the past two years."

"Yeah, and when we took our first stab at it, we lost some Democratic support," Blake responds. "The last thing we need is to lose votes from our own party."

"If this is our chance to pass a gun control bill, we're taking it." I set my pen down. "When I'm re-elected, we can go at it a little stronger, maybe even change the Second Amendment."

He huffs. "Now you're dreaming."

Eileen gives him a stern look I'd never want to be on the other end of. "That will be all, Mr. Latham." She turns to me. "We'll have something on your desk in 48 hours, ma'am."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Willoughby pokes her head in. "Antonia Lopez and Daniel Hoang from the OMB are here."

"Give me five minutes."

The other staffers leave the room, and I quickly open my laptop and search for Alex Vause. My eyes didn't deceive me—she's attractive. There's something about her eyes and the set of her jaw. After staring at her photograph for a few more seconds than necessary, I scan her bio. Bachelor of Arts degree in political science from UCLA; Juris Doctorate from the University of Chicago; research and advocacy work for gun control in Illinois; worked on California's first-in-the-nation Gun Violence Restraining Order law; served as the Legislative Director of Californians to Prevent Gun Violence, a small, grassroots advocacy organization in San Francisco; and joined CSGV three months ago as the Director of National Affairs where she works with a wide array of constituencies to advance policies and programs to reduce gun violence.

I hit the Images button and am flooded with photos of Alex. Most of them are of her with groups, presumably organizations with whom she has worked. Four of them appear to be professional headshots, and only a few are candids of her out and about. I'm drawn to one in particular where she's wearing a Mohammed Ali shirt and red boxing gloves. I click on the image to make it larger and see that she was sparring with a partner. Her triceps are exposed as she's in the middle of a punch. It's the only picture where she's not wearing glasses.

"It's been five minutes, Madam President," Mrs. Willoughby announces.

"Right." I jump back in my seat like I was caught doing something…unpresidential. "Send them in."

* * *

My day ends near 10 p.m. and I crawl into bed after 17 meetings throughout the day and a long-ass business dinner with Eileen, Jane, the Senate Majority Whip and his wife. I pull out my laptop and resume my research on Alex Vause. Of course, my computer was scrubbed while I was at dinner, so all my bookmarks and recent searches are lost.

I punch in her name again and smile when the first image appears. I hit the videos button and am pleased to see there are three videos. The first is of her giving a speech to a room of middle-aged women. The second is tagged as a WMAQ Chicago news story about preventing gun violence. Alex issues a 20 second sound bite, using her hands to explain her point. I'm drawn to her long fingers and unpainted but well-manicured nails. The final video is of her walking along a path with another woman, again, using her hands to explain something. I watch that one a couple times. I like the way she moves; the way she carries herself—tall, strong, confident.

I fall asleep, computer on my lap, with thoughts of Alex Vause dancing in my head. It's the first decent night of sleep I've had in six months.


	2. Chapter 2

Other than walking about a mile a day getting from one side of the West Wing to the other, I get very little exercise. I run when I can, which is to say close to never, so I started practicing yoga a few days a week to keep my mind and body fit. So, after my 5 a.m. yoga session this morning, I shower and head to the office, once again flanked by no fewer than five people. My day always begins with a briefing from my Chief of Staff, Communications Director and one or two others who have something to do with whatever happened the night before or _will_ happen in the near future. On Thursdays, I meet with my full Cabinet, but not before I review the day's agenda with Mrs. Willoughby and Chris.

I sip the cup of coffee that Chris hands me the moment I enter the vestibule leading to my office. "I don't see a meeting with Alex Vause on the schedule."

"I couldn't fit it in today, ma'am. You know how Thursdays are," Mrs. Willoughby replies. "I have her on your schedule tomorrow at 9:45 a.m. Will that work?"

I lower my head to keep her from seeing the disappointment in my eyes. "Even if it's late in the evening, I'd like a one-on-one with Ms. Vause today."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll carve out some time after dinner."

Although I've been in office for two and a half years, I've never gotten used to the intensity of Thursdays. Inevitably, I exit the meeting in the Roosevelt Room with my Cabinet with a list of a hundred new tasks, half of which involve face-to-face meetings that I'll need to be a part of over the next week.

"Excuse me, ma'am." Blake catches up with me as I make my way back to the Oval Office. "I wanted to apologize for my outburst yesterday."

I grab a folder from Mrs. Willoughby. "Outburst?"

"About rewriting the gun control bill," he continues. "I was out of line."

"I appreciate your acknowledgment." I don't pay much attention to Blake's outbursts—I've grown accustomed to them. He's a passionate young man with a strong moral backbone. He's also a bleeding heart liberal who would rather die than to dishonor the Office of the President.

"It won't happen again, Madam President."

Before he walks away, I stop him. "Oh, Blake?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

I spin on my heels. "Why were you grinning when you told me about Alex Vause yesterday?"

He wrinkles his brow like he doesn't know where I'm going with this, so I proceed. "Were you trying to hide something?"

"I just thought…Well, I think she's…"

"Hot?" I interrupt, trying to keep a neutral expression.

That gets me a full-dimpled smile. "Yes, ma'am. She's also smart, well-respected, professional…"

"That'll be all, Blake. Thank you." I dismiss him before I travel down a path of agreeing just how attractive and intelligent Alex Vause seems to be.

* * *

The rest of the day is much like the one before and the one before that. The only difference is the number of hours I spend in the Situation Room discussing the major skirmish in Ahvez, Iran with my Generals. I have a relatively quick dinner with two Supreme Court justices, and then head back to my office to meet with Alex.

I open the side door and slip into the Oval Office to find her standing in the middle of the room, slowly turning around with a look of wonder in her eyes.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I announce.

She seems startled by my arrival. "Oh, Madame President…Hi. I haven't been waiting long."

"May I call you Alex?"

"Of course, ma'am."

I set a file on my desk. "Have you ever been in the Oval Office?"

"No," she chuckles. "I thought that would be obvious."

When I first met Alex, I thought she was attractive, but upon further reflection, I wondered if perhaps it was just the lighting in the room or the eloquent and persuasive way she spoke. Turns out, I was accurate with my initial observation—her attractiveness has nothing to do with the lighting in the room, though it might have something to do with her voice.

"Sometimes I'm still awestruck that this is where I work." I walk over to the bar cart. "Can I offer you something to drink? Cognac? Brandy?"

She wraps her fingers around her secretary glasses. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

I pull the crystal cork out of one of the decanters and notice my hands are shaking. "Which do you prefer?"

"Whatever you're having is fine." Alex takes a step in my direction. "About yesterday, I didn't mean to derail your bill like that, at least not directly to you."

I've met with some of the most powerful people in the world, and my hands have never trembled with nervousness. Even with the shakes, I try to keep my tone normal. "Who would you have directed your concerns to?"

"Eileen O'Sullivan, Blake Latham." She shrugs. "If I came off disrespectful, I apologize. That was not my intention."

I pour two glasses of Brandy, hoping she doesn't detect the decanter shaking. "You weren't disrespectful."

"Thank you." She takes one of the proffered glasses. "I left feeling like I said things that weren't meant for the ears of the President, and—"

A tiny grin crosses my face when I realize she thinks I'm upset with her. "Do you think I'm angry with you?"

"Isn't that why you called me here?"

"Alex, this bill is important to me." I gesture to the yellow sofa in the middle of the office, finally feeling my nerves subside. "It's possibly the most vital legacy I'll leave our country."

She sits across from me. "I get that, and—"

"I've been waiting for someone like you to come along." I take a sip of Brandy. "Someone who isn't afraid to stand up to me, which you did _respectfully_ by the way, and tell the people in the room we've been going at this thing too hard." I cross my legs. "Since my husband died, people have been tiptoeing around me on gun control. They've been under the impression that I want all guns banned."

"Don't you?"

"In a perfect world, yes, but we don't live in a perfect world."

She takes a sip. "If that's the case, why didn't you suggest edits to the bill weeks ago?"

"I'm not the one out there trying to wrangle votes," I reply. "Sure, I meet with the occasional Congressman and try to strong-arm him into voting for the bill, but my staff are the ones on the ground—they're more in touch with what lawmakers want and what it'll take to get an affirmative vote." I lean forward. "Don't be mistaken—I'm not wishy washy on gun control—but I understand the ramifications of taking all guns off the shelves, which is why I'm in favor of common sense gun laws. I just needed someone like you to remind me and my staff of that." I sit back. "We need to rethink the bill if we want anything passed before my first term is over."

Alex smiles. "I'm glad I could be of service, ma'am."

"Twenty votes?" I smirk, swirling the alcohol in my glass.

"That's my goal."

I take another sip of Brandy. "I don't mean to be a downer, but I don't think that will happen."

It's Alex's turn to lean forward. It's the first time I've seen the confidence I thought might be lurking within her after hearing her impassioned speech the day before. "I think it will."

I match her posture. "All the balls are in your court, Ms. Vause."

"Thank you for your trust, Madam President."

We hold each other's eye for a moment until it feels too intense. I stand, setting my glass on my desk. "I'll be in touch after I've had a chance to read the modified bill."

"It doesn't have to be you, ma'am." She gets to her feet, taking one last sip of Brandy. "It would be perfectly acceptable if someone on your staff reaches out."

I turn to face her. "I want to stay closely involved with this one."

She smiles. "Yes, ma'am."

"Time for me to call it a night." I walk with her to the door. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"It was my pleasure, Madam President."

I shake her hand, enjoying the feel of her cool skin against mine. "Good night, Alex."

"Good night."

* * *

The next morning is even more of a frenzy than usual. I walk to my office with Eileen and Blake by my side.

"How was the meeting with Alex Vause last night?" Eileen enquires.

"Fine why?" I curse myself for being so jumpy.

Eileen at me glances curiously. "Did she tell you which Congressmen she has locked in for the vote?"

"No." I turn the corner.

She stops. "Then why did you meet with her?"

Before I have a chance to reply, Blake chimes in. "I have a call with Ms. Vause in an hour. I'll get names then."

We continue walking.

"You really think she can get 20 votes?" Eileen asks.

"I don't know." I pass by Mrs. Willoughby's desk as she hands me today's schedule with a _good morning, Madam President_. "But I trust her."

"You trust her?"

I enter the Oval Office with my staffers.

"I do."

"What has she done to garner your trust?" Eileen presses.

"It's not that she's done anything specifically." I sit in my desk chair and open my laptop. "There's something in her eyes."

Eileen and Blake exchange glances.

"Excuse me, Blake. I need a moment alone with the President," she says.

"I'll be in my office," he replies with a nod.

Eileen shuts the door, and then slowly walks towards me. "Something in her eyes?"

I look up. "Haven't you ever met someone you instantly trusted?"

She crosses her arms. "Yes, my husband."

I shrug and return my attention to the computer. "There you go."

She gives me an inquisitive look. "Madam President, is there something I should know?"

"I'll tell you what I told Alex last night." I shut my laptop and stand; fingertips pressed into my desk. "This is going to be the single most important bill I pass during my presidency. If I don't trust the people working for me, including Alex Vause, it will never happen."

That answer seems to placate her. "I'll work with Blake to find out who Ms. Vause plans to tackle first. Anything else, ma'am?"

"No." I sit down and open a folder, keeping my eyes averted from Eileen's scrutinizing gaze. "I'm meeting with Alex again tonight."

"Don't you trust Blake and I to handle this?"

"Of course, I do," I say. "I want to be fully in the loop on this one, and that means I'm going to have meetings with Alex."

She nods as if she suspects something she dare not voice. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

By 4 o'clock that afternoon, I get a revised gun control bill on my desk that includes verbiage about stringent background checks, banning sales of semi-automatic rifles and limiting the amount of ammunition a person can buy.

"This is good," I say to the six people in my office. "Who have you vetted it with?"

Blake ticks off no fewer than 10 names of influential Congressmen.

"Send it to the CSGV within the hour." I purposely don't state Alex's name for fear of Eileen's speculation. "Nice work."

Eileen O'Sullivan is old enough to be my mother, but she isn't maternal. She's driven, decisive and has a nose for bullshit like a bloodhound. While I wouldn't necessarily consider her a friend, she's my most trusted confidant. I have to proceed with caution where Alex is concerned, and I'm up to the task. Besides, when this whole gun control bill gets passed or rejected, my time with Alex will come to an end, and then there will be no reason for Eileen to wonder if she detects a sparkle in my eye when the lobbyist's name comes up.

I spend the next few hours with the Joint Chiefs, and then head to dinner in my private residence. It only happens once or twice a week, but when I get to have a meal alone, I relish it. Trouble is, when I'm by myself, my thoughts drift to Alex.

This is stupid. I'm the President of the United States of America. How is it that I have a budding crush on a female lobbyist? Am I imprudent enough to let this go any further? I lost my husband six months ago. I'm still grieving. Although my anguish has more to do with forgiving myself for trapping Larry in a loveless marriage, that's not what the public thinks and it must remain that way.

I still intend to meet with Alex tonight, but starting tomorrow, I'll let Eileen and Blake liaise with her; otherwise, I'm playing with fire and will undoubtedly get burned.

"Madam President?" Chris calls from outside my study. "Alex Vause is here to see you."

I wipe my mouth with a napkin and push the plate of food away. "In the residence?"

"No, ma'am. She's waiting outside the Oval Office," she responds. "I can ask Mrs. Willoughby to tell her you're in the middle of dinner."

"No, it's fine. I'll be right there," I reply.

I'd already changed into jeans and a Smith College sweatshirt and don't feel like putting on a dress or a business suit for one final meeting of the night. I glance at myself in the mirror, dab some gloss on my lips and brush my hair. This will have to do.

"Less impressive the second time around?" I ask as I enter the Oval and notice Alex staring at one of the portraits on the wall.

"No, ma'am. I'm equally impressed." She smiles and eyes me from top to bottom. "You look good." She quickly recants, standing a little taller. "What I meant is that you look…relaxed, Madam President."

"I am." I don't ask if she wants an after dinner cocktail; instead, I pour two glasses of Cognac. "And you look business-like as usual."

Her cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. "I don't think I'd ever be comfortable in casual clothes in your presence, ma'am."

"That's too bad." I give her a once over as I hand her a glass. "I'm sure you'd look good in jeans."

One eyebrow ticks up. "Thank you for the drink."

I'm pleased with myself for keeping my nerves in check, but I'm upset with myself for—dare I say it—_flirting_. I need to dial it back. "This is a Martell V.S.O.P. Medallion _250 Ans de Tradition_ Fine Champagne Cognac." I move to the sofa, gesturing for her to join me. "The President of France gave it to me last year."

She sniffs it and grins. "I don't even want to know what this cost."

I take a long whiff of the amber liquid. "Look it up."

"The price?" she chuckles. "Isn't that kind of tacky?"

"Who cares." I take a sip. "I'm curious. Maybe you're blowing it out of proportion."

Alex pulls out her cell phone and I'm captivated by her long, slender fingers.

"Ok, let's see…" She scrolls on her phone. "Here we go…it was last available in the US two years ago and retailed for $3,890. Oh my God!"

"That's impossible!" I grab her hand, pulling the phone closer to me. I stare at the screen but am more intrigued by the way her skin feels against mine.

"If I would've known it costs nearly $4,000, I would've suggested that you offer it to a much more influential person, Madam President," she says.

I release her hand and rub my palm on my thigh. "I wouldn't want to share it with anyone else." Once again, I fear I've overstepped. "I mean, it's sitting on the bar cart in my office. I've shared it with a multitude of people. As you can see, the bottle is half-empty."

She takes a swig. "I'll savor every sip."

I take another sip, hiding my blush behind the glass. I almost treaded into something I'm not sure I could've gotten out of. "I trust you've read the revised bill?"

"I did." She nods. "What I appreciate in the revision is that if it isn't well-received in the vetting stage, you have room to move in with a softer bill, and suddenly you're everybody's hero."

"True," I reply. "I'm assuming Blake asked you for the names of the Congressmen you think you can secure."

She runs through six or seven names. "Those are the easy ones. The more challenging two are Carpenter and Rappaport."

"They're the reason I'm concerned we won't get the 218 votes needed." I take another sip and change the subject. "I'm in the mood for something sweet. You?"

"I could eat." She stands after I do.

"What sounds good?" I open the door, escorting her out. "Mrs. Willoughby, that'll be all for the day. I'll wrap up with Ms. Vause."

"Yes, ma'am. Good night."

Alex follows me down the hallway that leads back to the residence. "I love anything sweet—brownies, ice cream, cake..."

"I'm more of a savory woman myself, but every now and then I crave something sweet." I walk down a set of stairs.

"Does a Secret Service agent follow you everywhere?"

"Even to the bathroom." I nod. "They wait outside, but still."

We arrive at the kitchen and I flip on the lights. "Looks like chef has gone home for the night."

"We don't have to eat dessert, ma'am."

I glance at her. "Just because no one's here to cook for us doesn't mean we can't whip something up."

"I'm not a baker. Far from it." She holds her hands up and shakes her head. "I'd be fine with a jar of peanut butter and jelly; maybe add a banana and call it good."

"I love Elvis' favorite sandwich, but I'm in the mood for something else…" I tap my fingers against the counter. "Homemade cookies!" I open the refrigerator. "We'll need milk, eggs, sugar, flour and chocolate chips."

"Do you even have a recipe?"

I place the carton of milk on the stainless steel work surface. "We can look one up on your phone."

"This is crazy." Alex pulls her phone out and starts typing.

I place the eggs next to the milk. "I don't think baking cookies is all that crazy."

"It's not that. Although now that I think of it, me baking _anything_ is crazy," she chuckles. "It's the fact that I'm about to bake cookies with the President of the United States."

I walk over to her, gently lowering her phone. "Tonight, Alex, you're baking cookies with Piper Chapman."

"I'm sorry, ma'am but…"

I place two fingers over her full, red lips. "Just for tonight, please refer to me by my given name."

She looks around the kitchen, laughing. "Is there a hidden camera in here or something?"

"No cameras, no political agendas, and no one else around," I say. "Technically, a Secret Service agent is right outside the kitchen door, but this is about as private as it gets around here."

She nudges her glasses. "I'll do my best, but it's definitely out of my comfort zone, ma'am."

"It's ok to be uncomfortable every now and then." I move out of her personal space, feeling a sudden loss. "Look up how to make homemade chocolate chip cookies."

"Does everyone do exactly what you tell them?" She scrolls through her phone.

"Sorry, I'm the one who asked you not to call me President, yet I'm ordering you around."

"That's not what I meant—"

"It's ok." I grab a glass bowl. "You can call me out on stuff tonight; I'd actually enjoy it." I open three drawers until I find a spatula and a whisk. "I've pretty much forgotten what it's like to have someone disagree with me. Don't get me wrong, if Eileen sees a problem with my logic, she lets me know, but generally speaking, I get what I want without any back talk."

She props her phone up on the counter. "Must be nice."

"It is for the most part, but it gets kind of boring when people follow everything you tell them to do." I look over her shoulder at the recipe on her phone. "Oh, I forgot the butter." I walk back to the fridge. "You handle the dry ingredients."

She leans her hip against the counter. "You do the dry ingredients, and I'll do the wet."

I give her a look like she just sprouted two heads.

She quickly straightens. "Did I overstep?"

"You were testing me." I grin, which causes Alex to relax a bit. "It might take a while to get the hang of this."

She reads the items we need off her phone, and I gather them on the work surface. "Tell me about yourself, Alex."

"What do you want to know?" She drops half a stick of butter in a bowl.

"Everything."

"Ok, let's see…I was raised by a single Mom in New York until I was in fourth grade when we moved to the Bay Area." She places the butter in the microwave. "I grew up in low income housing, my Mom worked two jobs, and I started working as soon as it was legal."

"What was your first job?"

She takes the melted butter out of the microwave. "I bagged groceries for a local market."

I slide the carton of eggs to her. "That's not so bad."

"It is when you work 30 hours a week and still have to go to school."

I open the cannister of sugar. "I guess that _would_ be tough."

"I did what I had to do to get by, you know?" She cracks an egg into the bowl. "We lived in one of the most expensive areas in the country, and even though we were in low income housing, rent wasn't cheap."

"Which is why my administration is advocating staunchly for affordable housing."

She gives me a nostalgic smile. "If only you were President 20 years ago."

"Then we wouldn't be baking cookies together." I grin. "Please, continue."

There's a lightness in talking to Alex even though we're discussing what surely must've been a difficult time in her life. I don't usually have the pleasure of _chit chat_ as President, so it's refreshing to talk about something other than politics.

"I received a Board of Regents scholarship and the Cal Grant to attend UCLA, where I graduated with a degree in political science. I hadn't really considered law school until one of my professors talked me into taking the LSAT at the end of junior year."

"What were you thinking of doing after college?"

"Gun violence was prevalent where I grew up, and I knew I wanted to do something about it, but I didn't know exactly what." She whisks the wet ingredients. "All I knew was that I wanted to be a changemaker."

I place my hand on her arm. "That's admirable."

She smiles. "I got into three or four law schools, but other than living in New York until I was like 11, I had never left the state of California."

"How'd you settle on University of Chicago?"

She side-eyes me. "How'd you know that's where I went?"

I busy myself with pouring flour into a measuring cup. "I did a little research."

She purses her lips as if trying to hide a smirk. "On me?"

I dump the flour into the glass bowl. "I like to know who I'm working with."

She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. "Don't you have an entire staff to do research for you?"

"Yes, but I'm not above researching on my own occasionally." I put my hands on my hips, face her and try the tactic of owning my actions. It usually works with Heads of State. "I read your bio on the CSGV website; it's not like I was scouring the internet to find juice on you," I lie.

"I wouldn't mind if you did." She has a killer smirk. "Not much to see other than a few headshots."

"There was a picture of you with boxing gloves." I swallow hard, knowing I'm showing my hand a bit more than I probably should.

I can tell by her lingering grin that she's caught on that I did more Internet digging than I first admitted. "I box to stay in shape."

"I see." My lecherous eyes betray my mind as they scan her body.

"I used to compete in amateur tournaments when I was a hell of a lot younger and in ten times better shape."

"You appear to be in excellent shape." I scratch my forehead and then run my hand down the back of my head with anxious fingers, trying desperately to keep my eyes on her face.

"I do what I can." Alex reaches out and it's like she's moving in slow motion. "Here's the trouble with baking cookies from scratch." She rubs a white spot off my forehead with the pad of her thumb.

This is the closest I've stood to another person since Larry was alive, and an electrical charge surges through my body almost knocking me to the ground.

"Maybe we should've put on aprons," I offer in what I hope is a steady voice.

"An apron wouldn't have prevented you from getting flour on your face," she responds with a slight laugh. "Or in your hair."

I curse the loss of contact and it takes me a few seconds to recover, but I do my best not to miss a beat. "Anyway, you were telling me about law school."

Alex continues filling me in on her days in law school and who she clerked for. Turns out, she scored four points higher than I did on the LSAT, but I scored five points higher on the Bar. She tells me about her fellowship the year after graduating from the University of Chicago, and I tell her about mine. Interestingly, we had very similar experiences the second half of our lives. The conversation continues effortlessly until the cookies are done.

I stand behind her on my tip toes and peer into the oven window. "Are they burnt?"

"I think they're good." She opens the door and uses a potholder to grab the pan. "We did it."

"Don't be so sure." I pick up a cookie, but it's too hot to touch. "Ow!"

"They just came out of the oven, Piper!" she laughs.

It's the first time she's called me by my first name, and it sends a thrill throughout my body. The air between us is charged as if we're standing in a lightning storm.

I stare up at her. "Say it again."

"They just came out of the oven?" she tries.

I shake my head. "My name."

"Piper?"

"The whole thing."

"They just came out of the oven, Piper," comes out an octave lower than her normal voice.

We're close enough for me to feel her warm breath, and for the first time, I allow myself to think about what it would feel like to _kiss her_. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. _I shouldn't do this_. I quickly back away, giving her a small smile—one that I hope conveys sincerity and maybe a bit of sadness. "Thank you."

She brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "Anytime."

We remain like this for a moment, but my chest feels like a balloon so full that one more inch of air will cause it to explode.

Alex is the first to turn away. "They should be cool enough now."

I tap a cookie to be sure it's not still too hot, and then blow on it before taking a bite. "Oh my God."

She does the same. "Wow. They're good."

"I can't believe it." I swallow another bite. "I haven't made cookies since college."

"I don't think I ever made them." She pops the rest of the chocolate chip cookie in her mouth. "Maybe when I was little."

I smile. "We make a good team."

"We do." She returns my smile. "Mind if I get a glass of milk?"

I pull the carton out of the refrigerator. "That's what this is missing."

Alex gets two glasses, and then takes the carton from me, filling each one. "Not as good as the Cognac, but nothing beats milk and cookies."

"Agreed." I tap my glass against hers. "It's nice to get away from the world, even if it's only for an hour."

"It is." She runs the spatula under each cookie to make sure they didn't stick to the pan. "I'm guessing not many people get an opportunity like this."

"In my role, I don't get to let many people in." I lower my head, almost feeling sorry for myself, but then quickly raise it the way a _confident woman_ would. "But I'm glad you indulged me."

She smiles. "The pleasure was mine, ma'am."

"We have a busy week ahead of us," I comment, pulling out a Tupperware dish.

"We do." She places three stacks of cookies in it. "I have a meeting with Zach Houston and Barbra Bolt tomorrow morning. They should be easy wins—raise my confidence."

I grin. "Something tells me you don't need a boost in confidence."

"Not usually, but my job depends on securing the votes."

I wrap four cookies in foil. "I have full confidence in you."

She slides the Tupperware container towards me. "Why is that?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "I told Eileen there's something in your eyes."

"You told your Chief of Staff that?" She raises her brows.

"I tell her just about everything." That's not really true—there's a lot I don't tell Eileen, but I may have divulged too much.

She takes my hand. "Thank you for trusting me. I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

I stare into her green eyes, relishing the feel of my hand in hers. Being vulnerable has always been hard for me, but that doesn't seem to be the case when I'm with Alex.

"And now," she pulls back and sighs. "We need to snap back to reality, Madam President."

"I'd like to do this again," I say before I have a chance to check myself. "Maybe not baking cookies, but you know, something equally enjoyable."

Her smile almost turns into laughter. "I'd like that very much."

"Take these." I hand her the Tupperware. "I shouldn't have them in my possession or I'm liable to eat all of them tonight."

She takes the container. "I'll try to spread it out a bit."

I am not a hugger. I shake 30 to 40 hands a day, but I don't hug. Yet a force pulls my body closer to Alex and before I know it, we're in a tight embrace. I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to be in someone else's arms. People hugged me after Larry's death, but those moments of consolation felt nothing like this one—this is _intimate_. I wouldn't hug Eileen or Jane or Blake like this.

We pull back, each of us issuing a warm but toothless smile. "I'll show you out." I take her hand, escorting her out of the kitchen, and when we arrive at a long corridor in a more public space, I release it. "Terry, will you walk Ms. Vause to her car?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good night, Alex."

"Good night, Madam President."


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up the next morning with a bounce in my step after having spent the evening with Alex. As I practice a quick 30 minutes of yoga, I allow myself to recall how good it felt to be _touched_. I can't fathom what it would feel like to _really_ be touched, but the moment she wiped the flour off my forehead felt more intimate than kissing Larry when we were in a relatively happy marriage.

That bounce in my step deflates the minute I get bombarded with staffers asking questions about the gun control bill and giving me an update on overnight happenings, including a mass shooting at a nightclub in Atlanta.

"Enough is enough," I say, slicing the air as I walk into my office. "If this latest killing spree doesn't wake up the Republican Congressmen holding out on voting for the bill, I don't know what will."

"They'll dig in their heels just to oppose our agenda," Blake replies.

I sit irritably in the armchair, waiting for the rest of my staff to show up. "Who are you meeting with today?"

"Hinton and McDaniels," he replies. "Alex Vause has Houston and Bolt."

The mention of her name makes my pupils widen. I hope it wasn't noticeable.

"Speaking of Ms. Vause," Eileen enters the room and sits next to Blake. "How'd your meeting go last night."

"Fine." I open the portfolio on my lap and pretend to read something. I need to change the subject entirely so as not to blush at the mention of her name. "Where are we on HR-3878?"

"I'm meeting with Energy and Commerce today," Eileen responds.

As Warren talks about drafting a statement after the Atlanta shooting, Eileen glances my way with a suspicious look. Better to ignore it than to divulge that I have…_thoughts_…about Alex. She can't know that—at least not yet. For all I know my relationship with her could end the moment the gun control bill gets or doesn't get the votes.

"I'll have the statement done by noon," Warren states. "Madam President, do you want to deliver it or should Jane do it at her afternoon briefing?"

"I'll do it."

Mrs. Willoughby pokes her head in. "Your eight o'clock appointment is here—Natalie Crawl and Susan Miller from the National Coalition for Life."

"I'd like her to crawl up my ass," I say under my breath before closing my portfolio and getting to my feet.

The others snicker and stand out of respect.

"Who's in here for this one?" I ask.

"We both are, ma'am," Eileen replies, nodding once at Blake to signify he should step out.

"Good." I place my portfolio on my desk. "One of you is going to have to hold me back."

* * *

That afternoon prior to my meeting with the Subcommittee on Crime, Terrorism & Homeland Security, I breeze by Mrs. Willoughby's desk.

"Oh, Madam President?" She hands me a container. "This was delivered for you. Secret Service already tested the contents. They're safe."

I take the proffered Tupperware container and try to hide a grin. "Because someone is going to send me arsenic laced cookies?"

"Apparently so, ma'am." She sits down. "Alex Vause dropped them off."

Hoping she doesn't see my eyes bolt open for the second time today at the mention of her name, I keep my head bowed and peel off the envelope that's taped to the lid.

"Why is Alex Vause sending you cookies?" Eileen asks from behind.

"We, um…" I'm trapped. If I lie and Eileen gets curious, she can check the record book at the entrance to the White House or she could look at video cameras in the West Wing hallways and figure out quite easily that Alex was here until late last night. I opt for the truth. "We baked cookies, and she's returning the Tupperware I loaned her."

"Sounds like a lovely evening," Mrs. Willoughby politely replies. "That reminds me, I need to whip up a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies for the staff." She writes something down on a notepad.

"Mrs. Willoughby, will you give me and the President five minutes alone in her office?" Eileen asks, holding my office door open for me.

_Fuck_.

She glances at her watch. "Seeing as how the subcommittee chair isn't here yet, that ought to be fine."

I step inside my office and hold up one hand. "I know what you're going to say—"

"What the hell is going on, Madam President?" Eileen asks, shutting the door.

"What?" I lift my shoulders. "We met about the votes she's trying to secure, and then I wanted something sweet."

"And you couldn't have had someone from the kitchen whip something up for you?"

"The kitchen staff was done for the night," I explain, setting the Tupperware on my desk. "I'm not helpless you know—I can bake cookies."

"This isn't about your baking cookies, ma'am." She shakes her head. "It's about you cavorting with Ms. Vause."

"_Cavorting_?" I repeat with an audacious huff. "You make it sound so…_clandestine_."

"Isn't it?"

"I like her, Eileen." My mouth suddenly feels dry. "I like spending time with her."

"Good Lord…" She rolls her eyes and plops onto the sofa.

"Can't I have a friend outside of the White House?"

"Sure you can," she replies. "Is that what Ms. Vause is—a friend?"

"I hardly know her!" I lift my palms and shrug. "I'd like her to be my friend, yes."

She leans forward. "How long have we known each other?"

"Fifteen, maybe 16 years."

"Exactly. Don't play coy with me when it's just the two of us," she begins. "What I had to do to bury those stories about you kissing women in college gives me enough nightmares to last a lifetime."

I avert my eyes.

"And don't get me started on how you look at some of them."

"I don't ogle women." I recognize my voice is at a higher than normal octave.

Eileen's look suggests otherwise. "Not _all_ women—just the beautiful, highly intellectual ones. You might be able to fool everyone else, but you can't fool me."

"I'm not trying to fool anyone," I protest.

"Well, Madam President…" Eileen gets to her feet and stands toe to toe with me. "You are smitten."

"I am no such thing!"

"And you can't be," she finishes.

"Yes, I'm spending more time with Alex than I do with other people outside of the White House, but it's refreshing to talk to someone about things that don't involve immigration and healthcare and taxation!"

"You're admitting that you don't just talk about gun control?"

"I mean, that's where we _begin_ every conversation," I try feebly. "After all, that's her job."

"But it doesn't end with professional tasks or goals for Ms. Vause, does it?"

"That may not be where it ends," I stand taller, trying to be more presidential than I feel right now. "But I always leave her with my expectations of where her conversations with Congressmen will go."

"Sit with me." She moves to the far end of the sofa and pats the cushion next to her. "I don't want to know what you and Ms. Vause talk about if it doesn't pertain to our work here."

I join her on the couch.

"However, it would be irresponsible for you to have _other_ thoughts. This is a re-election year, Madam President. You can't do anything to jeopardize your chance at another four years."

"I'm not jeopardizing anything, Eileen," I respond as persuasively as possible. "Alex is becoming a friend. That's all."

She looks me in the eye. "See that it remains that way or else you'll be on the lecture circuit as past-President in no time."

Mrs. Willoughby knocks on the door. "Jarrod Reid is here, Madam President."

"We're wrapping up now," I call.

Eileen and I stand simultaneously.

"You don't get to determine who I see," I boldly announce to my Chief of Staff.

"My role is to advise you about what's best for this country." She picks up her portfolio, tucking it under one arm. "Alex Vause isn't it."

I'm taken aback by her statement and wonder if she has conducted more in-depth research than I have about Alex. There's no time for me to find out, but I need to get to the bottom of this before I go down an unrecoverable path.

It isn't until much later that evening when I have a moment alone in the Oval Office. I notice the Tupperware container on my desk, and it brings a smile to my face. I'd forgotten there was an envelope taped to the lid, so I open it and pull out a slip of paper.

_My Mom always told me never to return an empty container. Although they're not nearly as delicious as the cookies we baked, I hope you enjoy these store-bought Snickerdoodles. Look forward to seeing you soon…Alex_.

I hold the paper against my chest and sigh. What am I going to do about Alex Vause?

* * *

The next week flies by partially because of my travel to Mississippi to survey the damage from a string of tornadoes followed by a trip to Atlanta to console the families of the victims killed in the latest mass shooting. Amidst all this, tensions with Iran have heated up while seven major US cities are experiencing a homelessness crisis. I must focus on each of these issues, so I don't have time to think about Alex other than when I doze off to sleep or wake up in the morning. She hasn't contacted me, not that I expected her to, and I haven't reached out to her even under the guise of work. Although it's not my preference, I've allowed Eileen and Blake to liaise with her so as not to seem overly anxious about making a new friend.

The day before the gun control vote goes to the House floor, I meet with my staffers in the Oval Office.

"I spoke with the executive director of the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence this morning," Eileen states flipping a page in her binder.

"Edwin Nowak?" I ask with a furrowed brow. "Why didn't you talk to Alex?"

She gives me a harsh look, and then turns to the others in the room. "I spoke with Mr. Nowak who informed me that unfortunately, they're still two votes shy of the promised 20."

"Go figure," Blake comments with a wry smirk.

"I asked you a question, Eileen." I take a step closer.

"Madam President, Ms. Vause was a valuable asset in securing 18 of the votes," Eileen replies. "And while I'm sure she gave it her all, she was unable to bring it home."

"And?" I press.

"She's sitting the rest of this one out." Eileen lifts her chin, and I take it that she won't back down. "Mr. Nowak is our point person for the next 24 hours." Again, she turns to the others in the room. "As I was saying…"

I'm not mad, I'm _livid_. This is not the time to bring up just how fucking furious I am, but Eileen will answer to me when this meeting is over.

"I need you all to hustle, folks. We've only got one day to make magic happen," my Chief of Staff says by way of ending the meeting.

There's a string of _thank you, Madam President_ as everyone exits my office.

"Eileen, a word please?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Close the door." I perch on the edge of my desk and cross my ankles. "I think you know what this is about."

"Madam President, Alex Vause did all she could to corral the votes, and I thanked her for her efforts, but—"

"There is no _but_ at the end of that sentence." I tighten my jaw. "Who gave you the authority to pull her off this assignment?"

She shakes her head. "With all due respect, ma'am, I don't need anyone's authorization to sideline a lobbyist."

"In this case, you did." I abruptly push off the desk. "And I think you know you did."

She raises her shoulders. "I know nothing of the sort, ma'am."

"What is it about Alex you don't like?"

She lowers her head and runs her tongue along her lower lip as if she _wants_ to respond but thinks better of it.

"Hmm?" I step closer. "Is it that I can't have friends who are lobbyists? Or is it something else?"

"I don't like what I'm about to tell you, ma'am," she begins slowly shaking her head back and forth.

"Spit it out, Eileen."

She looks me square in the eyes. "Alex Vause is a lesbian."

"That's it?" My eyebrows shoot up. "_That's_ your problem with Alex?"

"My son has been married to his partner for ten years," she notes. "I am as much of an advocate for LGBTQ rights as you are, ma'am, but you cannot have a relationship—_even a friendship_—with a single, lesbian woman."

I bite so hard on my back teeth that I may have cracked a molar. "I'll ignore the fact that the word _lesbian_ already implies that she's a _woman_, but how _dare_ you?" I don't stop there. "How dare you tell me who I can be friends with? What is this, pre-school?"

"Ma'am, I—"

"Let me finish." I step so close to her that the tips of our pointy heels are an inch from touching. "You serve at the pleasure of the President and have no right to dictate with whom I associate!"

"This isn't about me telling you who you can befriend," she says, getting dangerously close to insubordination. "This is about re-election. I've said it before, and I'll say it again—if you find yourself attracted to Ms. Vause and you two become an item, you'll lose."

Ignoring her statement, I press on. "The first thing you're going to do is call Edwin Nowak to reinstate Alex as the lead on the gun control bill," I state pointedly. "Then, you're going to apologize to her for acting out of turn. And Eileen?" Now our shoes _are_ touching. "You're going to mean every fucking word. Is that clear?"

She has the decency to bow her head. "Yes, ma'am."

I stand in front of her for a few seconds, feeling my heart thump double-time before moving behind my desk. "That will be all."

The thing is, I _know_ why I shouldn't see Alex—although I hadn't confirmed she's gay until that moment, I had deep suspicions. But it's not that…well not exclusively. If I am going to run for re-election, which I am, I cannot under any circumstances be intimately involved with a woman. If I thought running for President as a newly divorced woman would hamper my electability, being in a full-fledged same sex relationship would be the kiss of death.

Eileen knows that I know this, but I refuse to give in out of sheer principle.

* * *

Later that afternoon, I wrap up a meeting with the Mayor's Council and stop by Mrs. Willoughby's desk.

"How's your day going, Madam President?"

"I've had better," I sigh. "Will you get Alex Vause on the line for me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I walk into the Oval Office. "Patch it through to my personal line."

I sit down with a thud and exhale a long, frustrated breath.

"I have Ms. Vause on the line," Mrs. Willoughby announces.

"Thank you." I hear a click. "Hello, Alex?"

"Yes, Madam President," she answers. "I didn't expect your call."

My lips tick up. "I promised I'd be in touch."

"It only took you six days." She laughs lightly, presumably knowing full well this isn't a social call.

"You were counting?" My smile lingers, but I know I need to get down to business. "I'm hoping by now you've had a chance to speak with Eileen O'Sullivan."

"I have."

"And you're back on the hunt for our last two votes?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

We're silent for a moment, and I wish I could simply ask her to come over for a glass of wine so I can apologize for the way my Chief of Staff handled things.

"I want you in the room with us to watch the vote," I finally say.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I don't think that's a good idea."

"You're defying a direct order from the President of the United States?" I chide.

"Is that what this is?" she asks. "Because if that's the case, I'll be there."

"I will never ask you to do anything you don't want to do." I don't think I've ever said those words to anyone in my life. If I did, I never meant them the way I do now. What I'm saying—what I'm trying to convey—is that she doesn't have to answer to me as the President. Alex Vause gets to answer to me as a woman; as a _friend_.

She's the one to break the silence, though not with any acknowledgement of the weight of my words. "I think I can get Carpenter to come around, but Rappaport seems immovable."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"I have a solution that I think might work," Alex says. "But it's kind of out there."

"I'm listening."

She takes a deep breath and I can picture her pacing in the room before diving in. "I've been trying to wrap my head around a compromise to taking semi-automatic weapons off store shelves," she begins. "And I think there's a way we can allow the public to shoot these guns in a controlled setting."

"I don't understand."

"What if the government purchased an old warehouse or something and made it into a shooting range?" Excitement creeps into her voice. "I don't mean just any shooting range, but one that's run by the federal government where people over the age of 18 or 21—I haven't nailed that part down yet—could rent a semi-automatic weapon and shoot at targets in a secure location?"

I'm intrigued.

"They'd have to go through tight background checks, pay some amount of money to participate, and be limited to the number of rounds they'd get to shoot, but I think it could work."

"How would we ensure they just don't walk away with the guns?"

"There would have to be a system to prevent that. Obviously, the place where they'd rent the guns would be under lock and key and maybe staffed by a member of law enforcement or the military," she continues. "The customer would have to leave his ID and a credit card at the checkout point…And there would be an armed guard or two at the entryway."

"And the federal government would pay for this?"

I can almost hear her nodding. "By my calculation it would cost the government between $100-$200,000 annually, but customers would pay to use the facility so there would be some form of revenue to offset the cost."

"Go on."

"We can try it out for a year or two in Ohio to see if it's sustainable, and then go from there," she states. "It's the only thing I can think of to offer Rappaport. His would be the first state in the nation to try something like this, and knowing how big his ego is, I think this might get us the vote."

"You really thought this through," I comment, impressed by her creativity.

"Can I bring it to him?"

I think about it for a moment, wondering if it's something I should run by Eileen and even my Vice President. After what she pulled this morning, I decide to make an executive decision. "It's worth a shot."

"Thank you, Madam President."

"I'll do just about anything to get this bill passed." I pause before ending the call. "Can I expect you to watch the vote with us tomorrow evening?"

"If I can get Rappaport, I'll be there, ma'am. If not, well…"

"I understand. I'll put your name on the list. We'll be in the East Room."

"Thank you again, ma'am."

"Good luck, Alex."

I hang up the phone impressed by her creative solution and determination. She knows what's at stake here, and I believe if anyone has a chance at getting Rappaport to come around, it's Alex.


	4. Chapter 4

As with most meetings in Washington, D.C. the House is running behind schedule. There are 15 of us gathered in the East Room prepared to watch the live vote. The intel we've gotten so far leads us to believe we're still two votes shy of the simple majority needed to pass the bill. Six months of hard work might get flushed down the drain within the hour.

"I'm not sure if it even matters if it passes," Blake comments around a bite of crudité. "We still have to get it through the Senate."

"Trust me." Eileen eyes him. "If the bill passes the House, it'll pass in the Senate." She takes a sip of Diet Coke. "Sometimes I wonder if your cynicism is a form of self-protection."

"It may be." He saunters back to the food table.

"I asked them _not_ to bring Champagne into the room," Eileen complains. I'm not sure if she's musing to herself or to me since no one else is within earshot.

"Bad luck?" I ask.

She nods.

Other than three unavoidable meetings today, Eileen and I haven't spoken. I still have a bitter taste in my mouth after our conversation, but I'm not going to be petty.

"How'd the call with Alex go?" I ask.

Her eyes remain focused at something across the room. "Fine."

I listen to the Speaker call the House to order and watch my staffers begin taking their seats. Blake and Jane sit next to each other, and Warren paces behind a row of chairs. Another staffer drags a white board to the side of the room, ready to tally votes as if it's the 1950s.

"I talked to her last night," I admit without shame. "There's still a chance she'll get Carpenter and Rappaport."

Eileen gives me an audacious look. "You really believe that?"

"I do." I move to the back of the room, still with a good view of the television, and listen as the votes are called.

I've never enjoyed this part of my job—the waiting. Ninety percent of the time, I know how the vote will turn out, but sometimes, it's too close to call. This is one of those moments. Although my eyes are mostly glued to the TV, they occasionally wander to the door, hoping Alex breezes in. I know she said she'd only show up if she secured the votes, but I'd like for her to be here regardless. I want to apologize in person for Eileen's decision to sideline her and thank her for everything she did to try to get the votes.

"Here comes a big one." Blake puts his hands behind his head and we collectively hold our breath as the Speaker calls Representative Carpenter by name.

"Yea."

The room breaks out into cheer as everyone high-fives or hugs the person next to them. I remain calm and optimistic only allowing a shadow of a smile to cross my lips.

"That's certainly cause for celebration," comes a familiar almost seductive voice behind me. "Who knew Carpenter would get on board?"

There's no question Alex is an attractive woman; some might even consider her stunning. She's tall, confident, has a killer body and a voice that'll make your knees quiver. The three times I've seen her, she's been dressed professionally if not conservatively in a black or Navy business suit with a plain blouse and sensible heels. Nothing prepares me for what I see when I turn around to ensure my ears aren't playing tricks on me. She's wearing a black pencil-skirt with an embellished hem, a sheer blouse with flouncy sleeves that tie just above the elbow, and black Louboutin heels. Her hair is wavy at the ends and her makeup looks professionally done. And then there's her full, red lips…

"_Alex_," I whisper, hoping to convey how happy I am she's here with just one word.

Amidst all the hooting and hollering, I pull her to me, not caring who sees our embrace. The hug is short but meaningful—at least to me.

"How'd you get Carpenter?"

She lifts her shoulders. "I had a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Thank you." I issue a big smile. "I'm glad you decided to join us."

"Me, too." She stands next to me in the back of the room, and I can feel a few sets of eyes on us, namely Eileen's and Warren's.

"Does this mean you got Rappaport to cave?" I ask in a voice only she can hear.

Her smirk gives it away before she speaks. "We'll have to see, won't we, Madam President?"

I squeeze her hand and then quickly release it.

"Ms. Vause," Eileen greets her. "Good of you to join us."

"I thought I should be with you win or lose." She adjusts her glasses. "That's the considerate thing to do."

"So, you don't know if Rappaport is a yes?"

Alex shrugs. "I guess we'll have to find out in 17, make that 16, votes."

Eileen nods and returns to her seat as the last few votes are called.

"My hands are sweaty," I announce, rubbing them together. "I'm nervous."

"Don't be." Alex's hand glides down my lower back and now I can hardly concentrate on what's happening on TV.

The speaker calls Representative Rappaport's name, and the room goes silent. Rappaport glances at a notepad in front of him, flips a page and sighs.

"Come on you old coot," Blake comments as he sways back and forth. "Do the right thing."

Rappaport looks up. "Yea."

And that's all it takes for pandemonium to break out in the room. Champagne corks pop, people scream, and chairs get knocked over with all the excitement. Jane grabs a bottle of Champagne, shakes it and sprays the crowd with bubbles.

I turn to Alex. "I can't believe you did it."

"No one has had faith in me the way you have this past week, ma'am. Thank you."

I pull her closer, tucking my face into the crook of her neck. She smells like _cookies_ of all things. I take two big whiffs and close my eyes imagining what she _tastes_ like before we're interrupted. Eileen approaches us, and I quickly release Alex, straightening my hair for no other reason than a nervous gesture.

"How in the hell did you pull this off?"

"A promise is a promise." Alex releases me. "I can't take all the credit." She juts her chin towards me.

By now Blake and Warren are interested in our conversation, too.

"Alex came to me with a plan," I begin, worried about their reactions but still confident that what I did was the right thing. "She asked if she could go to Rappaport with a deal to create the first federally sponsored shooting range." I proceed to fill them in with the logistics of Alex's idea, and she chimes in a few times.

"That's going to take quite a bit of doing," Eileen states, eyes roaming between mine and Alex's. "Not to mention quite a bit of money."

"That's what I have you for," I reply with a smirk. "I trust you'll work closely with Rappaport and Alex to ensure things get put into place in a timely manner?"

She nods.

"I don't think it's a bad idea," Blake comments. "What if we…" He walks away, strategizing with Warren and Jane.

"Can't say I'm a huge proponent of this newfangled plan." Eileen folds her arms. "But we'll find a way to make it work."

"There was no other way," Alex adds, standing a little taller. "Seriously, I tried everything."

I'm drawn to the way the skirt hugs her hips and her heels accentuate her calves.

"Passing this bill is one of the greatest things that could happen in our country," I say, tearing my eyes away from her body. "We knew we'd have to give-and-take with the Republican hold-outs. This is a relatively innocuous compromise."

"I hope you're right." Eileen reaches to shake Alex's hand. "Thank you for delivering the votes."

She shakes Eileen's hand. "Happy I could help."

One of my staffers opens another bottle of bubbly, spraying it around the room again.

I tug at my blouse and discover Champagne spots all over. "I could use a change of clothes."

"Me, too." Alex glances down at her speckled blouse. "I should get going."

"Get going?" I ask. "We're not done celebrating."

She grins. "We're not?"

"Mm mm." I shake my head and breeze by her close enough for our breasts to touch.

She follows me out of the room and down the corridor, and of course, a Secret Service agent trails two steps behind.

"Where are we going?"

"To the East Wing—my private residence." I turn a corner past a series of cubicles to sounds of _congratulations, Madam President_.

"But there was Champagne back there," Alex notes, hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

"I have Champagne in my room." I make another right and enter a narrow hallway. "I probably don't have Champagne in my room, but I can get it."

We arrive at a set of large, white doors that no one can enter without badging in.

"Give me your visitor's badge."

She pulls it from around her neck.

I examine the back of it to see there's a barcode. "I've never done this before."

"Badged someone in?" she asks.

"Had a guest in my private quarters."

"Should I be here?"

"You just got us the votes we needed to pass the nation's first gun control law." I swipe the badge through an apparatus on the wall. "Of course you should be here."

She looks around apprehensively. "Maybe you should, I don't know, tell someone you're taking me to your private residence before they think I've kidnapped you."

I turn to the Secret Service agent. "Did you hear that, Agent Spencer? Alex Vause is not kidnapping me. I'm taking her to my private residence willingly."

"Yes, ma'am." It's about the closest thing to a grin I've ever seen from an agent.

The light turns green, and we walk through the doors.

Alex is a step behind me. "Have you ever gotten lost in here?"

"My first month was a disaster," I admit, turning left. "I entered the housekeeper's quarters once and the guard's station twice."

"I can see why," she notes as we make one more turn.

"This is my private office." I stand in front of the door, trying to convey with my eyes if not my words what this means. I've never had someone other than a staffer or the Secret Service in my private spaces. I don't want to make Alex uncomfortable, but I want her to know she's different—_special_.

I turn the knob and allow her to enter first.

"Wow." She spins around, taking everything in. "It's beautiful."

I shut the door.

"Is this an Andrew Wyeth?" She approaches the painting.

I nod. "_Christina's World_. It's on loan from MoMA." I hang my blazer on a hook near the door. "This one is Jackson Pollack's _Lavender Mist_ from the National Gallery of Art."

She glances at another famous painting. "It's like stepping inside a museum."

"One of the perks of being President, I guess." I kick off my shoes. "My chest feels all sticky. Mind if I change?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'll get something for you to wear if you'd like." I pad into the bedroom. "Although I'd hate to see you change out of your outfit."

She follows me but stops in the space between my office and my bedroom as if that would be taking this too far.

Eyes fully on Alex, I begin unbuttoning my blouse. "It looks good on you."

I watch her swallow, eyes turning a darker shade of green before she dips her head. "I bought it for tonight."

I turn my back and finish unbuttoning my blouse, but there's a mirror on my right and I can see Alex just as well as she can see me with an open shirt and my teal colored, lacy bra. "I'm sure you have plenty of suits and dresses to choose from. Why'd you buy something new?"

"I knew tonight would be special," she says in a low voice.

I want to say, "_It will be_," but instead, I opt for "It was."

I remove my blouse and abruptly wonder if I've crossed a line. I cover my chest with the thin material, and then proceed into the bathroom to finish changing. I wipe my arms, chest and legs to rid myself of sticky remnants of Champagne, and then pull on a pair of old jeans and a gray, long sleeved t-shirt.

When I open the door, Alex is standing in the same spot where I left her. "Are you afraid to come in?"

"No, it's just…" She rubs the back of her neck and lets out an incredulous laugh. "This is crazy! I'm in the President of the United States' bedroom."

"You are." I slowly approach her. "And these are my normal clothes; my normal hands; and my normal feet with unmanicured toes." I wiggle them. "Who needs polished toenails in the Fall?" I lift her hand, placing it on my shoulder. "Touch me, Alex…I don't mean…" I lower my gaze and then reframe my statement. "I don't mean _like that_; I mean touch the familiarity of me."

She rubs the cotton material between her finger and thumb, then lets her hand travel down my arm until it reaches the frayed cuff. "You have a stain."

"Bleach," I chuckle with a hint of nervousness. "I've had this shirt since college. It's too soft and comfortable to give away."

"I could see that." She smiles, still toying with my sleeve.

"If we're going to spend time together, and I hope we do, I want you to think of me as Piper Chapman not as the President. You're in Piper's bedroom." I squeeze her hand. "_My_ bedroom, making fun of the stain on my 20-year-old t-shirt from The Gap."

Her smile is all sincerity. "It's going to take a while for that to register, ma'am."

We stare at each other a little longer, but it doesn't feel awkward.

I'm the first to speak. "Would you like to change clothes?"

"That would be nice."

"I'm going to call down for a bottle of sparkling wine, and then we can sit on the balcony and soak up the crisp, Autumn air."

"I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"Wear something of mine." I lift the phone receiver and hit zero. "Hi, Darlene, would you mind sending up a bottle of Champagne and a couple of glasses? Maybe something to nibble on as well."

"Of course, ma'am. I'll have that delivered right away."

I hang up, and then dial Chris, my personal aide's number. "Hi Chris, I'm done for the evening."

"Yes, ma'am. Is there anything I can do before I leave?"

"Let the staff know I'll be in my private residence for the rest of the night. See you tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Hope this is ok." Alex enters my office wearing yoga pants and a pale, yellow National Geographic shirt.

I smile. "You look comfortable."

She tugs the hem and looks down. "I figured this is another shirt from your 'way back' collection."

I meet her in the entryway. "It is, so I'll expect you to return it."

"I'll try to remember," she chuckles.

"I ordered some Champagne and food. It should be here soon." I dig in my drawer for some wool socks. "Want a pair?"

"Thanks." She reaches for the blue ones. "What's in that room?"

I follow her line of sight, debating whether I should avoid the truth or come out with it.

I tug my thick socks on, and then make my way over to the door she's staring at. "Larry's room."

By sharing that information, I'm essentially confessing that Larry and I didn't sleep together.

Her expression immediately shifts. "Oh, sorry, I didn't…"

"It's ok." I open the door and take a few steps inside. "I haven't been in here since just after he died."

"We don't have to…"

"It's ok," I repeat. "I sorted through some of his stuff before they gave the rest of it away." I peek into one of the dresser drawers. "I kept his Yankees t-shirt and a bunch of articles he wrote. That's about it."

"It must've been an awful time for you."

I sit on the bench at the foot of the bed and glance at her. "Which part?"

"All of it." She shrugs. "Finding out he was shot, going to the hospital, dealing with the emotions of his death while running the country…I can't imagine."

"I hope no one ever has to endure something like that." I lift the corner of the quilt. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but…" I sigh, wondering if I'm oversharing. Probably, but I don't stop. "Larry and I had a strained marriage."

Alex sits next to me, turning her whole body towards me.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it _loveless_, but we weren't _in_ love," I continue, bowing my head. "I don't think I was ever in love with him the way a woman should love her husband."

She remains silent.

"A big part of my grieving has to do with that—wrestling with the fact that Larry stayed with me because of my position." Words spew out of my mouth as if I'm talking to my therapist. "He knew if we separated, my political career would be over."

She rests a hand on my knee. "That's a pretty selfless act."

"Huh," I say as if I just realized something. "_Selfless_ isn't a word I would've chosen to describe Larry," I let out a wet, wistful laugh. "But I suppose he was."

She pulls me into a warm, soothing hug. "Healing takes time. I'm sure you'll get there."

"I hope so." I sniff and then stand, straightening my posture. "Ugh, I'm sorry about all this." I sniff again and grab a tissue off the end table. "This was not the way I hoped this evening would go."

"The night is young." She smiles. "Unless you want it to, it doesn't have to end with us standing here all sad."

"You're right." I blow my nose, and then go into his bathroom to wash my hands and freshen up. "Give me a minute." When I've gotten my emotions under control, I walk back towards my bedroom, holding the door open for Alex. "It's easy to talk to you."

She follows me to the sitting area of my room. "It helps when I'm trying to wrangle votes."

"Is that what you're doing?" I give her a playful smile. "Wrangling me?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Madam Pr—" she doesn't finish. "I wouldn't dream of it, _Piper_."

The way my name sounds rolling off her lips excites me in an unfamiliar way.

There's a knock at the door, startling both of us.

"Madam President, it's Louie. I have a delivery from the kitchen."

I open my bedroom door, and he wheels in a cart that's draped with white linen.

"Thank you, Louie."

"My pleasure, Madam President. Can I offer you anything else at the moment?"

"Just some peace and quiet."

"Will do, ma'am." He exits.

"Let's see what we have here…" I lift the cloche to find a bowl of chopped fruit, assorted meats and cheeses and two walnut brownies. "Hope you're hungry."

"I'm always hungry."

I replace the cloche. "If you're up for it, we can sit outside."

"Ok," she replies. "I'm sure the view is spectacular."

"Not as spectacular as you might think," I say, rolling the cart onto the veranda. "Even in the dark you can see that my bedroom is set back from the main road. All I can really see is the lawn and trees."

"Still, it's beautiful."

"Holy shit!" Alex jumps. "What's _he_ doing here?"

I start twisting the cork of the Champagne bottle and follow her gaze to see a man in a suit standing 20 feet away. "Secret Service. They're everywhere; get used to it."

She hides a smirk very well.

"Let me help with that." She takes the bottle and pops the cork. Champagne spills down the bottle, and Alex darts out her tongue, licking it.

It's one of the most erotic things I think I've ever seen.

"Mmm, this is good." Alex reads the label. "Armand de Brignac Brut Gold…I'm not going to look up what this cost."

I hold out both Champagne flutes. "I'm sure it was a gift just like the Cognac."

"Your gifts are a helluva lot better than mine." She pours some in each glass.

"It helps to have friends in high places."

That makes her chuckle.

Alex holds her glass high. "To a spectacular victory."

"And to the woman who made it happen." I clink my glass against hers. "Cheers."

We both sit in my stately outdoor chairs and dig into the food. I pass her the bowl of fruit and she hands me the cheese plate.

"How often do you come out here?" she asks around a mouthful of cantaloupe.

"Not often enough." I take a sip of Champagne. "Like most things, it gets old after time."

"Two and a half years is a long time."

"Not long enough to get everything done that needs doing," I comment.

She dots a cracker with a slice of Brie. "What's the main thing on your agenda now that the gun bill is going to pass?"

"I promise I'll answer your work questions another time," I offer. "But tonight, I want to talk about something other than politics."

"No arguments here."

"Tell me about your Mom." I eat a piece of salami.

"My mom? She's amazing." Alex sips her Champagne. "She still lives in San Bruno and works at a restaurant near the airport. I told her she didn't have to work—I'd give her all the money she needs—but she won't hear of it."

"She takes pride in her ability to earn a paycheck," I comment. "That's admirable."

"She's a big fan of yours," Alex confesses.

"Is she?" I grin.

She nods. "She was excited for my move to DC, because she thought I'd have a greater chance of meeting you in person."

"Ha!" I almost spit out my food.

"If only she could see us now."

I wipe my mouth with a starched napkin. "She can."

"What?"

"Call her."

"_What_?"

I reach out, signifying that I want Alex to hand over her phone. "Let's call her. FaceTime would be even better."

"What time is it in California?" Alex checks her watch. "She's probably working."

"I'm sure the restaurant manager wouldn't mind if she took five minutes to say hello to the President."

"Seriously?"

I wiggle my fingers. "Give me your phone."

She enters the passcode and hands it to me. "Hit the Favorites button."

"Why am I not listed as a Favorite?"

She laughs. "You don't even have a cell phone."

"I do, actually. I just don't use it every day."

"Well, put your number in there, and I'll store it in my Favorites."

I enter my number into her phone, save it as _Piper_, and then hold it up so she can see. "There you go."

She seems to have doubted I'd give her my private cell phone number but seems impressed that I called her bluff.

"Ok, I'm calling your Mom." I hit the green button.

The phone rings four times before someone answers. "Hi, hon."

"Hi," I cover the receiver with my hand and whisper to Alex, "What's her name?"

"Diane."

"Hi, Diane. Alex is sitting next to me as we share a bottle of Champagne after her political victory this evening."

"Who is this?" she asks in a skeptical tone.

"President Chapman."

It sounds like she pulls the phone away, presumably to look at the screen a second time. "Don't bullshit me. Put Alex on the line."

"If you insist." I hand the phone to her daughter.

"Hi, Mom."

"Al, what's going on? You playing some kind of prank on me? Ha, ha, very funny."

"I'm not actually." She laughs. "You were just talking to the President of the United States."

"I was _not_!"

"Do FaceTime," I suggest.

Alex hits the button and I see her Mom in an industrial-like kitchen. "Can you see me, Mom?"

"Did I press the right button?" Diane squints. "Oh, now, I see you. Hi, kid! Are you on a porch or something?"

Alex turns the camera my way.

"Hi Diane." I wave.

"Are you shitting me?" Diane slaps her leg. "_President Chapman_?"

"I'm trying to get Alex to stop calling me that when we're in private. Same goes for you."

"I can't…I just…What the hell?"

I tilt the screen until Alex and I are both in the frame.

"Hi, Mom."

"This is unreal…I mean…" She's clearly speechless. "Al, you're _friends_ with President Chapman?"

Alex gives me the _sweetest_ smile. "Looks that way."

"She was just telling me I'd really like you, Diane, but since you live in California, I don't think I'm going to have the opportunity to meet you for a while," I add. "When are you coming to DC?"

"As soon as my daughter invites me, ma'am."

"Consider yourself invited."

"My apartment is miniscule, plus it's a mess," Alex protests.

"You can come as a guest of mine," I offer. "Provided you pass a strict background check and security clearance."

She puts a hand on her cheek. "I don't even know what to say."

"Things are a little crazy here, but I'll tell you what," I begin. "Let's get through the next couple of weeks and we'll make arrangements for you to come to DC."

"It would be an honor, Madam President."

"Good." I smile. "Alex and I are going to finish this bottle of Champagne, but it was nice meeting you."

"Likewise, ma'am."

"Good night, Mom." Alex hangs up and smiles widely at me. "She's probably shitting her pants right now. Sorry for the language."

"It's ok. I'm glad I made her day," I say with an equally bright smile.

"Are you kidding? You made her _year_!"

"Well…" I reach for the bottle of Champagne and top off each of our glasses with the last of it. "You made my night."

She runs a finger around the thin lip of her Champagne flute. "Because of the vote or because of this?"

"Both," I reply. "But mostly because of this."

We sit silently for a few minutes, and my head is whirling with pleasure. I met this fascinating, brilliant, compassionate woman who also happens to be a stunningly beautiful political operative. I never dreamed of such a scenario.

Alex ends my musings. "I haven't read many news articles about your family."

It was widely known throughout my campaign that I have a strained relationship with my parents. I'm sure Alex is just making small talk, so I indulge. "My older brother is a doctor in Australia and my younger one is a hard-core naturalist."

"And your parents?"

"Dad is a financial consultant and my Mom stays at home." I set my glass down and pop a strawberry into my mouth.

"I didn't necessarily want to know what they do for a living."

I thought maybe I could get away with surface level stuff, but Alex is no fool. I twist my head and look at her. "They've never been invested in my life. Yeah, they sent me to college and paid for every expense I incurred from pre-school through law school, but I'm talking about time—they never spent _time_ with me." I take another sip. "I could tell in the first minute of talking to your Mom that you two are close. That kind of love is palpable."

"It's funny," she begins with a nostalgic look. "Growing up, I wanted everything you had."

"And now?"

"I'm glad life dealt me the hand I was given." She pauses. "I'm sorry you don't have a close relationship with your family, but I'm fortunate to have a Mom who cares deeply about me."

I give her a gentle smile. "You are."

Alex drains the rest of her Champagne. "I could talk to you all night, but something tells me I should head home."

"To your miniscule, filthy apartment?"

"I never said _filthy_," she chuckles.

I set my glass on the table and stand. "Thank you for tonight."

"Thank _you_," she replies. "If it weren't for you, I'd be eating leftover Thai food that I've already picked all the chicken out of."

That causes me to borderline snort.

"Seriously, this was a great night," she says.

"I hope we can do it again soon," I offer.

"So do I."

I walk her back through my bedroom and watch her stare at the art on the walls.

"This really is like a museum," she says as she approaches the bedroom door.

I grin. "And you didn't even have to pay an entrance fee."

"Oh, I think the taxes I pay are more than enough to cover the fee," she chuckles.

We hug, but this one is more normal, more chaste, than the last time we embraced. I don't know if I'm reading too much into it, but it feels different—_tentative_.

"Good night."

Alex exits without any fanfare, and I catch up on e-mails before climbing into bed. There are a multitude of problems in the world that need solving, and I'm the one with the power to solve or at least help solve them, yet when my head hits the pillow, all I can think about is Alex.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: I'm overwhelmed by the reviews so far! Thank you so much for taking time to leave a note. I've tried to respond to all of you who have a little bubble next to your review, which I think means you have a registered account on this site. If you left a review and would like a response from me, you'll have to get a username so I can private message you or send me a PM and I'll gladly respond. As a reminder, I'll post a chapter every two days except on weekends. Finally, for those of you who are new to my stories, I don't post unless I've finished writing a story so I'll never leave you stranded with a WIP. I tend to make changes, add scenes or edit for consistency as I post each chapter. Another HUGE shout out to my Beta, IrishViking. Thanks for reading!

* * *

I knew the flurry around the West Wing would be palpable the day after the vote in the House, but I didn't expect more than half my day to revolve around gun control business. My staff has to make 40+ edits before it goes to the Senate Subcommittee and then gets voted on by the full Senate late next week.

"I'll be in my office, Mrs. Willoughby." I breeze by her desk and stroll into my office with Chris on my heels. "Do I have dinner plans tonight?"

She glances at my schedule. "No, ma'am."

"I'm going to try to make some personal plans then."

"I should remind you that we're leaving for the G7 Summit tomorrow at 8 a.m."

With all the hubbub surrounding the gun control bill, I'd forgotten the Summit was this week. "Can you send someone up to pack for me?" I sit at my desk. "I want the pinstriped pantsuit and my black dress with the ruffles down the front. Whatever else they pack is fine." I sign five cards that were left on my desk, thanking diplomats for one thing or another. "Oh, and my black Via Spiga pumps—the patent leather ones."

She starts scribbling in her notebook. "Anything else, ma'am?"

"That's all, Chris. Thank you."

I ask Mrs. Willoughby to put a call in to Alex, who picks up on the second ring. "Hello, Madam President."

"Hi." I feel my cheeks heating up. I can't recall the last time I _blushed_. "How's your day so far?"

"It's amazing how much the mood around here changes when we get a big victory."

"You deserve all the credit," I say.

"I'm happy to share the win with everyone at the CSGV."

I trouble my lower lip and bounce my leg as I work up the courage to ask her out. I am severely out of practice—the last time I asked someone out was my first year of law school when I had a crush on the guy who stacked casebooks at the law library. Every time since then, the other person did the honors. What makes me even more anxious is that I'm asking a _woman_ out, knowing full well that my Chief of Staff thinks this is a terrible idea.

"Was there something you wanted?" Alex asks.

I must've stalled too long, allowing uncomfortable silence to provoke her to speak.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "I'm wondering if you're free for dinner tonight?" I'm relieved to get the words out.

"I'm flattered, ma'am." She sounds surprised at my request. "Any other day, I'd love to, but my colleagues at the Coalition are taking me out tonight to celebrate." There's regret in her tone, but there's also a touch of pride.

Although the sting of rejection sucks, I understand her predicament. "You deserve a night of celebration with your colleagues."

"I'm free tomorrow night," she offers.

"I'll be in Düsseldorf for the G7 Summit," I reply. "Pretty sure I'll be gone four nights. Usually when I'm in Europe, I make another stop or two."

"Can't you skip it?" she jokes. "I heard the food is terrible."

That causes me to chuckle. "I was hoping to avoid a third post-dinner meeting with you, but would you be interested in meeting up later tonight?" I use the word 'meeting' deliberately rather than calling it a date.

"Why were you hoping to avoid it, ma'am?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "It just seems tawdry."

"_Tawdry_?" I can almost hear her smirking.

Just as I'm about to change my word choice, she continues. "I'd love to see you tonight."

It sends waves of anticipation throughout my body. "I'll send a car for you that way you don't have to drive after what I hope will be a night of good food and drink. Where are you having dinner?"

"Centrolina," she responds.

"Good." I write the name of the restaurant on a notepad. "I'll have Chris, my personal aide, send you the number for the driver. Just call or text him when you're ready to be picked up."

"Thank you, ma'am. See you tonight."

I hang up feeling giddy at the prospect of hanging out with Alex again.

* * *

I enjoy a light dinner with Chris and Mrs. Willoughby, which is a rare treat, and then make a couple more phone calls before heading to my residence. Keeping myself busy is key while I wait for Alex to arrive. My hope is that she wraps up dinner around nine and can be here shortly thereafter, but it's not my intention that she cut her celebratory dinner short because of me.

At 9:30, my fingers itch to text her—something I've yet to do. While my cell phone is semi-private, I don't want to risk communicating with Alex that way before I have a serious conversation with Eileen. Speaking of my Chief of Staff, I've mostly avoided private conversations with her. When Alex showed up to watch the House votes come in yesterday, I know she was on high alert, and then when we both disappeared after the votes were called, well, I'm sure it was obvious that we were going somewhere together. I don't want Eileen to suspect that something is going on between Alex and me any more than she already does.

I've given Alex the most access to the West and East wings that she can legally get as a non-government employee, which is to say that she can get through two checkpoints by showing her badge and then scanning the barcode to get into the lobby of my residence. The Secret Service will escort her through parts of the East Wing, and I've given them permission to allow Alex to come to my private office, though she'll still need to greet the agent who will announce her presence.

I hear a knock just before 10 p.m. "Pardon me, Madam President?"

"Yes, Agent Spencer?" I walk to the door.

"Ms. Vause is here to see you."

I swing it open to see Alex in a dark blue dress and strappy heels. "Thank you." I hold the door open for her. "Come in."

"Hi."

I close the door and eye her up and down. "You look nice." I'm putting it mildly.

She smiles. "So do you."

I glance down at my outfit—jeans and an ivory sweater. "If you like the casual look, then I suppose I'll take the compliment."

"I do." She walks more confidently into my vast bedroom than she did last night. "I get to see you all business-like every day, so seeing you in casual clothes is nice—makes you seem more human."

"And less like Wonder Woman?"

She grins. "No, you still seem pretty much like Wonder Woman even in street clothes."

"If only I had her superhero powers." I gesture for her to join me in the sitting area, which is directly across from the bed, though it feels like miles away. "How was dinner?"

"Delicious." She sits on one end of the sofa. "But I ate too much."

I join her. "What did you order?"

"We had a bunch of appetizers, and then I ordered the goat ragu with spinach and aged parmesan cheese."

I make a face. "I'm not sure about goat."

"It was surprisingly tender."

"I miss going out to dinner," I say. "I don't mean stately dinners or meals with politicians. I'm talking about dinner with friends where the conversation flows effortlessly, and no one is trying to make a deal or swing a vote."

She gives me a sweet smile. "That would be hard to give up."

"Did they do a toast to your success?"

Alex tells me all about the toast and the conversation and how proud she was to have secured the final votes. She also tells me about how much she admires and likes her colleagues. I listen with interest and watch her gesticulate with her hands. She's so full of life—that's one of the things I like most about her.

She asks about my day, and I fill her in on everything that's unclassified and fit for public consumption. I've been in politics too long to slip up on that front. I pour us each a glass of Brandy as we chat for an hour or so about food, life and the familiar terrain of politics.

She swirls the liquid in her glass. "This will be your second G7 Summit?"

I nod. "Last year we were in Riga."

"I've heard good things about Riga."

"It's a one of those quintessential European cities that still has Medieval charm." I sip my Brandy. "Not that I got to stroll around Old Town or anything."

That gives her a good chuckle. "I wouldn't think you could get away with walking the streets or window shopping in a major city."

"I miss that, too," I respond around another sip. "I've never been to Düsseldorf. I've been to Berlin and Munich though."

"I was in Düsseldorf about three years ago," she says. "If you get the chance to check out Altstadt, I think you'd like it."

"That's their Old Town, right?"

She nods. "I think they have the longest stretch of pubs and bars in the world."

"If only I could duck into a pub and enjoy a pint of beer."

My phone rings, catching me off guard. It's rare to have a call past 11 o'clock, which means it's probably an emergency.

"Yes?" I answer.

"Sorry to bother you, Madam President. It's Phillip Rothschild," my Secretary of Defense announces. "There's been a violent escalation in Iran. I'm requesting your presence in the Situation Room."

I lower my eyes. "I'll be there in 15 minutes."

Alex gets to her feet. "Something wrong?"

"I have to go." I open my armoire in search of something more formal to wear. "I'd like to see you when I return from Germany."

"I'd like that, but…" Alex looks away. "I promised myself I wouldn't leave here without telling you something."

I pull out a simple, green dress. "Telling me what?"

"It's not the right time." With eyes still averted, she shakes her head seemingly more to convince herself that it's not the proper time for her to tell me whatever it is she wants to say.

"Alex, I'll be out of the country for the rest of the week. When I get back, I'll have a million things to do, so if there's something on your mind, please share it," I say, tugging the dress off its hanger.

She turns to me, folding her arms in what I can only assume is an instinctual protective move. "You know I'm gay, right?"

My sweater is halfway over my head when I freeze in mid-air. Of all the things I thought she would bring up, her sexuality wasn't one of them.

Suddenly conscious of my half-clothed body, I fully remove my sweater and quickly replace it with my dress. "You're right. Now is not a good time to have this conversation."

"I know, but _you're_ also right," she states with a shrug. "There's never going to be a good time."

"I'm headed to the Situation Room to deal with what I can only assume is an international crisis." Once the dress covers my butt, I unzip my jeans and shrug out of them. "I don't have time to discuss this."

She doesn't respond; she just turns mostly away from me, presumably to give me privacy to change clothes; it's a little late for that.

"Eileen told me," I admit. I hadn't intended to engage in this conversation, but my mouth is evidently moving faster than my brain.

"_Eileen_ told you?" She bites the inside of her lip. "It's not something you figured out on your own?"

"I had my suspicions," I confess, ripping off my socks and replacing them with sensible heels. "But it doesn't matter."

She appears taken back by my statement. "It doesn't matter?"

"I enjoy spending time with you, Alex. I don't care if you're gay."

"Alright then. Good." It seems like she's trying to stifle a disbelieving laugh—like the question she was asking had more to do with where this might've been going if we were two, _normal_ women. I suspect it's not enough for me to be 'ok' with Alex being a lesbian—she wants to know if I feel something for her—if I could possibly _be with her_. She didn't tell me she's gay as a _head's up, bro_ sort of thing.

I can't tell her I'm attracted to her, not only because I'm probably minutes away from having to make a decision about bombing Ahvaz, but also because it would be a political risk.

Wouldn't she know I'm into her? _Feel_ it? Maybe she does, but she's not in the position of power here. There's no denying it—I'm literally the most powerful woman on the face of the earth. I don't ponder that as an egotistical stance; it's a simple fact—I hold the cards here. I can only imagine the uneasiness Alex must be feeling.

I take both her hands in mine. "I want to have this conversation, Alex, I really do, but I have to go."

"I know." She squeezes my hands before releasing them.

"Goodbye for now." I hug her, digging my fingertips into her back and not wanting to let go.

She pulls back with a forced smile. "Good luck, Piper."

It's her use of my given name that almost makes me stay. I take a moment to collect myself, set my jaw, and then escort her into the hallway where I instruct an agent to see that she gets home safely.

Seven minutes later, I'm in the Situation Room where I have to focus fully on the task at hand and make decisions about how involved the US should be in this conflict in Iran. There's no thinking about Alex and the way we left things—that doesn't happen until I'm in bed two hours later.

It's not surprising that I have trouble sleeping that night (or morning as it were). I knew that conversation with Alex was inevitable, but I thought surely it could've waited another couple of weeks. I haven't had enough time to bask in the friendship of another woman and I sure as hell haven't had enough time to contemplate what it would feel like to _be with her_.

As we left things, she probably thinks I'm not interested in her romantically. Why wouldn't she think that? It's certainly the impression I gave. I regret not giving her at least a little confidence. I could've said something like, "I know you're gay and I'm glad, because I've been having some _very_ gay thoughts about what I'd like to do to you." I would never say something like that even if it _is_ true…but I can certainly think it.

* * *

The G7 Summit goes off without a hitch, though I'm forced to miss several hours due to phone conversations with my generals about the conflict in Iran. With seven of the world's most powerful and influential leaders in the room, I regret missing a single word, but my job at home doesn't stop "for a conference."

I spend the fourth night in Luxembourg, having dinner with the President of the European Commission. After dinner, I ask Eileen if she'd like to have a nightcap at the hotel bar. Of course this means one section of the bar would have to be sectioned off for just the two of us, so I decide we'd be better served having a drink in my suite.

"I thought the summit went well," she begins. "As did the meeting with President Arcement."

"Same." I pour her a glass of Sémillon. "His dining room was gorgeous."

"That chandelier alone must be worth over a million."

We make small talk over our glasses of sweet French wine, and then I broach the subject I've been dreading.

I keep my chin tucked. "I'd like to revisit our conversation about Alex Vause."

"She should still be drinking from the keg of glory after getting Carpenter and Rappaport's votes." Eileen accepts another glass of Sémillon. "I'm having Blake work closely with her to get the shooting range logistics worked out."

"Good." I sit in the wingback chair across from her. "But I don't want to talk about her professionally."

She smooths her skirt. "Oh?"

"What would happen if I—"

"It can't happen, ma'am."

"I didn't even finish my sentence. What would happen if I—"

"Asked her out? Had feelings for her? Wanted to start a relationship?" Eileen lifts her brows. "None of that can happen."

"I'm talking about something that is in no way a conflict with my oath of office," I respond. "I'm a single adult. I met a woman I'd like to see again socially. Why is that a problem?"

"Because you're the President of the United States, ma'am," she states unnecessarily. "And this is an election year."

"Do you know how many presidents before me had affairs?" I did not intend to present the research I conducted about presidential infidelity, but my mouth gets ahead of me. "Not that I would be having an _affair_ with Alex, but still, at least ten presidents were unfaithful to their wives, some with multiple partners."

She folds her arms. "How many in your lifetime?"

"What?"

"How many presidents had affairs in your lifetime, ma'am?" she clarifies.

I'm not going to win this debate, but I sure as hell won't go down without a fight. "Well, there are rumors about HW Bush, but those were never substantiated, and of course there's Clinton."

"If you'd like to have a conversation with President Clinton about what his life was like during the investigation and in aftermath of his affair with Monica Lewinsky, just say the word and I'll get him on the phone," Eileen offers as if it's an outlandish notion.

I can imagine what the President went through without needing him to tell me in so many words.

"Before Clinton, journalists didn't report on presidential affairs because they didn't consider them newsworthy." She raises her shoulders. "Even if a president's affairs were well-known to his friends, staffers and journalists, the public didn't find out about them until years after his death."

I have to give up this charade of comparing my potential relationship with Alex to that of past presidents—it's not getting me anywhere. "I'm developing feelings for her," I admit. "I _have_ feelings for her."

"I know," Eileen sighs. "But you can't, Madam President."

"I _can_ and I _do_," I strike back.

"You know what I mean." She meets my eye. "If you weren't running for re-election, you could test the waters over the next two years, but that ship has sailed. You _are_ running for a second term, and a lesbian President simply isn't electable in the world we live in."

"What if I pull out?"

Her brows just about reach the ceiling. "From running again?"

I nod.

"You can't be serious, ma'am."

I let out a long breath and get to my feet. "This isn't fair!"

She watches me pace, and I know she thinks I'm being petulant—I _am_ being petulant. But it's _not_ fair. Why am I held to higher standards than the average American? I know the answer to that, but I don't want to hear it right now. What I _want_ Eileen to say is, "Ask her out on a real date. See where this goes." I'm wise enough to know that's never going to happen.

"What are my options?" I ask instead.

"Let's see…" She taps her finger against the wine glass. "You can drop out of the presidential race, which would be preposterous since you have an 82 percent approval rating—the highest of any sitting president in the last 16 years."

"What else?"

"You could have an open relationship with Ms. Vause and watch your numbers crumble." She crosses her legs. "Or you could attempt to have a secret relationship with her where you'd undoubtedly get caught, making matters even worse."

"Younger voters won't care if I'm in a same-sex relationship." I stick my hands on my hips. "In fact, they'd probably applaud it."

"That may be true—on the liberal side of things," she begins. "But middle-aged and older voters _will_ have a problem with it, and I don't just mean Republicans. There are thousands of Democrats and Moderates who believe strongly in wholesome family values, which does _not_ include homosexuality."

"I'm not gay," I try.

She stares at me like I'm a lunatic.

"I was married for 12 years, Eileen. I like men and I like women." I lift my shoulders. "It just so happens that I'm presently attracted to a woman and would like to explore that further."

"That is not a sound bite we want to put out there, ma'am," she says with a half-grin at its audacity. "The American voters don't care about whatever the hell it is you just described. In fact, they'd probably have a more difficult time wrapping their heads around a bi-sexual President than a gay one."

I steeple my hands and rest my forehead against them.

Eileen lets out a long breath. "Do you want me to have Maxine Sutton put together some numbers and see where we land?"

I shake my head vigorously. "I don't want polling numbers to determine if I can start a relationship."

She places a hand on my elbow and gives me a sad look. "I know, ma'am."

"Can we talk off the record, Eileen?"

She squirms in her seat. "If you'd like."

I feel an unavoidable smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I _really_ like her."

She sits back. "I could see that the first time you met."

"She's intelligent, confident, poised, unrestrained…"

"You forgot _beautiful_."

"Do I really need to point that out?"

She offers a tiny smile. "No, ma'am."

"I want to tell her how I feel."

She leans forward. "I can't imagine how hard it must be to keep your feelings in check, Madam President, but please let me run the numbers first, and then you can have the facts you need before making a decision."

"I guess I can live with that." I take a final sip of wine. "How long will it take?"

"Give me four days. That should be enough for at least a preliminary tally."

"Fine." I stand and begin pacing again, my mind shifting into overdrive. "What if she doesn't feel the same way?"

Eileen gives me a look.

"Here I am, talking to you about my own feelings and how that might affect my presidency, but I haven't even considered what would happen if the feeling wasn't mutual."

"I suppose that could happen," she offers.

I stop on the spot. "Really?"

"Although I wouldn't dream of doing this," Eileen gets to her feet. "I would imagine if we polled Americans about your attractiveness—and I don't just mean physically—the numbers would be off the charts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a catch, ma'am," she sighs as if she shouldn't have to tell me this. "And if Alex Vause isn't attracted to you, it would blow my mind."

I relax a little. "Thank you."

She sets the glass on the coffee table. "Let's keep this between us for now."

"I didn't plan on telling anyone else."

"Good." She walks to the door. "Sleep well, ma'am."

"You too."


	6. Chapter 6

I get back to the White House with 20 meetings that seemingly need to take place that afternoon. The world didn't stop while I was at the G7 Summit, and nothing reminds me more of that than when I glance at my schedule which is packed from 7 a.m. until 10 p.m.

I've wanted to text Alex while I was away, but I'm still not sure how the cell phone thing works with personal conversations. Who will read my text chains? What will that mean for my privacy? All things I'll need to get to the bottom of before using my mobile phone to communicate with her. Until then, my secure line at the White House will have to suffice.

Eileen informed me that she'd have a conversation with Maxine Sutton, so I should have an idea of how bad of an idea it would be to get romantically involved with Alex if that's the route I choose to take. What I'm hoping for is not going to happen; I know that. But I choose to be optimistic that my decline in numbers wouldn't be bad enough to lose re-election to a Republican. Of all people, don't Democrats vote on key issues instead of personal choices?

As I crawl into bed that night jet lagged beyond belief, I lift the handset and consider asking the operator to patch me through to Alex on the secure line. I hold it in my hands, asking myself what Eileen would do if she found out I communicated with Alex before knowing more about the political risk involved. I set the phone down and sigh. Not tonight.

* * *

Two more days go by and I'm antsy to get answers from Sutton. I try to play it cool with Eileen.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course, ma'am," Eileen replies.

I escort her into my office and close the door.

"If this is about Ms. Vause, I don't have anything for you yet," she says before I have a chance to speak.

"This isn't about Alex," I try, cursing my fair skin which is surely turning pink. "I have bigger issues to tackle than what transpires in my personal life."

"Sorry I jumped to conclusions, ma'am."

"But since you mentioned it…" I begin. "I thought you said we'd have numbers in four days?"

Judging by the look on her face, she can see right through my attempt to pretend I wanted to talk with her about something other than Alex. "Today is the fourth day. I expect to hear from Maxie by this evening."

"Ok."

"What else did you want to discuss, Madam President?" Eileen squints, almost daring me to proceed with some cockamamie scheme she knows I'd be making up.

"I'll save it for the meeting with you and Warren later this afternoon." Now I have to come up with something the two of them need to know that they aren't already privy to.

"Very well."

I usher her out and then go for a walk around the West Wing before my next meeting. Once a week, I like to make rounds in the building if for no other reason than to thank staffers for what they do. As I weave through the Communications department, Warren exits his office followed by Blake and…

"_Alex_?"

"Pip—Madam President," she greets me with a hitch in her voice. "Nice to see you again."

I take a few steps closer, and my God, the woman seems to have gotten even more beautiful since I last saw her. "What are you doing here?"

She lifts her glasses to the top of her head. "Discussing the Rappaport deal with Warren and Blake."

And damn if she doesn't smell good, too—like expensive perfume with notes of orange blossom and cider. "How did it go?"

She bops her head from side to side. "We're getting there."

"Good." I turn to Warren. "Would you mind if I stole Ms. Vause for a moment?"

"Not at all, Madam President," he responds. "Feel free to use my office."

"Thank you. We'll only be a minute." I make a sweeping gesture towards the door. "After you."

"I almost blew it out there," she sighs, putting her glasses back in place.

She _did_ almost slip and call me Piper, but I'll ignore the snafu for time's sake and because it provided me with a tiny thrill. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch."

"You've been busy." She shrugs. "I didn't expect to hear from you."

"I should've reached out."

"You traveled to Europe and came back to what I'm sure must've felt like chaos in the White House," Alex notes. "I didn't expect you to call."

"I wanted to."

A smile slowly spreads across her face. "You did?"

"I did." My heart is pounding. All I want to do is shove her against the door and—

"I would've liked talking to you while you were in Europe," she offers. "I always enjoy speaking with you."

I step closer. "And I always enjoy talking to _you_."

If she's nervous, she hides it well. "I'm glad we got that settled," she chuckles.

"When you told me you were gay…" I begin. "And I said it didn't matter…"

The quick change of subject seems to have caught her off guard. "Oh, right."

"What I meant was…" I rub her blazer between my thumb and index finger at the opening just below her breasts. "It _does_ matter." I swallow hard. "I'm glad you're gay if it means _this_." I stare up at her.

She touches my wrist and I wonder if she can feel my heightened pulse. "This?"

I nod. "_This_."

My body physically aches as I think about kissing Alex. I watch her gaze drift to my mouth and then back to my eyes.

"I'm working on it," I say in a thicker than usual voice, hoping she understands what I'm suggesting—that I'm working on a plan for us to be…_intimate_.

She grins. "You're working on it?"

"Yes."

We're so close that I can see every pore on her perfect face. I can smell her breath—it's sweet like maple syrup and coffee. If I just lift my chin a few inches…

Then it dawns on me—what if she's not attracted to me? What if the reason she likes spending time with me is because of the pleasure and honor of being friends with the President of the United States?

"I don't mean to assume…" I step back and run my fingers through my hair. "I might have colossally overstepped."

"Piper?" She closes the gap between us, picking up my hand as her smirk becomes even more pronounced. "You should work on a plan."

"I should?"

One eyebrow cocks up. "You should."

"Ok, then." I nod, completely under her spell. "I'll be in touch soon."

"I'll look forward to it," she replies. "We should probably…"

"Yeah." I straighten my hair and take a deep breath as if I just had sex. If a simple conversation with Alex riles me up, I can't imagine what the real thing would be like. Her voice, her gestures, her stature, her scent, her lips…everything about her is sensual.

The thing is, I've never had sex with a woman. Add to that I've never had _good_ sex at all, so I'm puzzled why the thought of having sex with Alex is such a turn on. Is it because it would be taboo? Or is it that she's _so fucking hot_ that it gets me excited? I've never considered myself a sexual person, but when I think of her fingers on my bare skin…_wow_.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that as I exit Warren's office after Alex, I bump into the wall. _Not smooth, ma'am_.

* * *

Eileen is waiting outside the Oval Office for me as my 4:30 meeting wraps up. "Madam President, a moment please?"

"Come in."

"Jean Halter will be here in three minutes," Mrs. Willoughby calls in a warning tone.

"Thank you."

"I have the numbers," Eileen announces as I shut the door.

I cross the room and stand in front of her, ready to take the blow. "How bad is it?"

She pulls out a one page document, reading off each of the five statements in the random poll Maxie Sutton put together. The last one reads: "Would you vote for a candidate with whom you shared values and who aligned with your political viewpoint if you knew that candidate was in a same-sex relationship?"

"And?" I ask.

"Overall response: 64 percent 'no' and 36 percent 'yes'," Eileen states. "If we break that down to Democrats and Republicans it's 46 percent 'yes' for Dems and 12 percent 'yes' for Republicans."

"Those aren't _horrible_," I try.

"It's too early to know what the spread would be between you and the Republican candidate. There are still five of them in the hunt for the nomination," she explains. "Once we know who the candidate is, we'll be able to dig deeper and understand with more certainty what the drop would look like."

"Assuming there would be a drop."

She gives me a _don't be an idiot_ look.

I crane my neck back and twist it from side to side, hearing the tendons pop. "I'm going to do this."

"Do what, ma'am?"

"Give it a shot with Alex," I announce. "I don't know if it'll be a lasting thing or just one night together, but I need to figure that out."

"I could get behind one night," Eileen responds. "We can make it discreet and no one other than the two of us and a few Secret Service agents would need to know."

"Ok…" I motion my hand for her to continue.

"But with all due respect, Madam President, I don't think it's going to be just one night," she says. "The way you acted at the bill voting party was the _opposite_ of discreet. And you were together in public for what—five minutes?"

I put my hands on my hips. "We can be discreet."

"For one night, ma'am, I'm sure you could be. This can't be an ongoing thing unless you give up hopes for re-election or you proceed armed with the facts and prepare to be defeated."

"I don't even know if she likes me!" I blurt out.

Eileen lets out a light huff. "She likes you."

"How do you know?"

She's a step away from rolling her eyes. "Are you hoping for an ego boost or can you genuinely not see it?"

I shake my head. "It's been years since I've been this…this…"

"Enamored?"

"Enamored, confused, captivated." I plop into the armchair with a thud. "It's caught me completely off guard."

"That's usually how these things happen," Eileen responds.

"I don't even know if we're compatible," I confess. "I need some time alone with her—more than the few hours we've been able to cobble together." Suddenly it dawns on me. "Thanksgiving is a week away. I'll ask her to go to Camp David!"

She folds her arms. "You've _got _to be kidding."

"No, it's perfect," I reply sitting up straighter. "I can have a skeleton staff for two nights. That would ensure total privacy and minimal interruption. We can figure out if we want to be together without the pressures of daily life or the confines of the White House walls."

"What if there's a national crisis in the middle of the holiday?" She presses. "Is your Cabinet going to show up at Camp David while your lover lounges in bed?"

"I'll have a driver ready at a moment's notice." I get to my feet. "If there's a crisis that would involve staffers showing up at Camp David, Alex will get whisked away before anyone arrives."

"I don't like the sound of this." She exhales a long sigh. "We should talk to Warren seeing as he's your Communications Director."

"I thought you wanted to keep it between us?"

"Excuse me, Madam President." Mrs. Willoughby knocks. "Your next appointment is here."

"Be right there," I respond.

Eileen walks to the door but doesn't open it. "I did want to keep it between us, but you know how Warren is always saying he's our first call if something…_untoward_…gets leaked. I think it's high time we bring him into the fold."

"Let me think about it overnight." I put my hand on the knob. "We'll discuss this again tomorrow."

* * *

That night, I can't wait to call Alex.

"To what do I owe the honor of your call, ma'am?" Alex answers.

"Are you being snarky or respectful?"

"A week ago, I would've said I was being respectful," she offers. "Now, it's a little of both. Trying to see what I can get away with."

I smile. "You're pretty much the only one who can get away with being snarky."

"Not a whole lot of jokesters in the White House, huh?"

"No," I answer. "I'm calling with an invitation."

"Let me guess: another _tawdry_ late-night meeting request?" she asks.

"Ha, ha." I prop a pillow behind me in bed. "No, this is a _real_ invitation."

"I'm listening."

I lick my lips before proceeding. "Come to Camp David with me."

Silence.

"Hello, Alex?"

"I must've misunderstood," she says.

"Come to Camp David with me for Thanksgiving," I repeat. "We can leave late Wednesday evening and spend two nights there. I'd have a small staff because no one can know about it, but we can prepare a meal together with a turkey and everything. Or we could order a bird from the White House kitchen. I'm sure chef will roast one for me, I'd just have to ask—"

"You want _me_ to spend Thanksgiving with you at Camp David?"

"Yes."

"I…" she pauses as if she's still trying to wrap her head around my invitation. "My Mom was going to come to DC."

My heart deflates like a balloon. "Oh, ok. I don't want you to change your plans. I know how much she—"

"Piper?" The way my name sounds coming out of her mouth is enough to make me swoon.

"Yes?"

"I want to be with you."

My heart soars again, but then I remember what she just revealed. "You just said your Mom will be here, and as much as I want to meet her, I was hoping it would just be the two of us."

"I think she'd understand why I'd miss Thanksgiving with her if she knew who I was spending the holiday with."

I bite my lower lip. "That's the thing—you can't tell her."

"Oh. That kind of puts me in a bind," she sighs. "I could say I have to go on a business trip."

"I don't want you to lie," I reply.

I picture her pacing in her tiny apartment. "I can't just _disappear_ for a couple of nights."

"Maybe this was a bad idea." I feel deflated again. "I'll try to—"

"It's not a bad idea," Alex begins. "Tell you what…I'm going to talk to my Mom tomorrow and see what we can work out without divulging that you and I would be together."

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"Ok." I pause. "It's just that…I'd really like to be with you, so, you know, do what you can."

"I will."

I've pretty much just admitted that I want to be alone with Alex at a private retreat, which means I've pretty much admitted that I want to have, at minimum, a physical relationship with her. That notion should frighten me or at least make me nervous, yet all I feel is elation that we might be able to pull this off.

* * *

Early the next day, Alex calls to tell me she has found a way to make our trip work. I'm elated that this is going to happen, but now it's time to bring my Communications Director on board.

"Warren, come in."

He sits on the sofa across from Eileen while I take a seat in the armchair between them.

"There's something you need to know, but it has to stay between us," I begin without fanfare.

"I think I've proven that discretion isn't a problem, ma'am."

I take a deep breath before proceeding. "I'm going to Camp David for two nights over Thanksgiving."

"That's wonderful. I understand there's still a bit of fall foliage up there," he responds.

Eileen pipes up. "It's not that she's going to Camp David, Warren, it's who she's going with."

I cross my legs. "I'm going with Alex Vause."

Those five words appear stuck in the thick, humid air waiting for him to grasp.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Alex Vause from the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence," I announce.

"I know who Alex Vause is, ma'am." He looks perplexed. "But why?"

Eileen and I exchange glances.

"I _like_ her," I try.

Eileen turns away, but I can still see her eye roll.

"You _like_ her?" he clarifies.

I nod. "The way a woman likes another woman."

"Sweet Jesus," Eileen mumbles, flopping her hands on the sofa cushion. "Warren, the President is hot for Ms. Vause and wants to spend some private time with her to determine if this is going to be a thing."

If the moment weren't so serious, I'd laugh.

"You're…" Warren looks perplexed. "Well, um, this is…This is news." He rubs his chin. "Who knows about this…development?"

"The three of us," I reply. "And we want to keep it that way."

He contains a laugh. "You might _want_ to keep it that way, but that's never been my experience with things like this."

I furrow my brow. "What do you mean, _things like this_?"

"Affairs," he says plainly. "They always find the light of day."

"This isn't an affair," I defend with a head shake. "I'm going to spend two nights with Alex. We're going to see if we're…compatible."

"With all due respect," Warren starts. "This isn't _The Dating Game_, Madam President."

"Watch your tone," Eileen warns. There's no question she's on his side, but she'll staunchly defend my honor.

"As one of your senior advisors, it's my duty to tell you this is a bad idea," he says.

"Thank you for your input, but it's unwelcomed at this time." I sit a little taller. "Eileen ran some preliminary polling numbers with Maxie Sutton, and although it's too soon to know for sure, they didn't look all that bad."

"They weren't _good_," she chimes in.

"But they weren't terrible," I respond. "I'm running for a second term. I don't see that changing no matter what happens with Alex."

"Surely, you'll lose," Warren states. "The country was barely ready to elect a female President—you won by the narrowest margin in history. You think they're ready to embrace a _gay, female_ President?"

"Look at what I've done in two and a half years!"

"With all due respect, ma'am, your victories won't matter when it comes to voters' perceptions about family values," he replies.

"Who cares about perception?" I ask in a heated tone. "My record indicates that I'm a President who gets things done—who stays true to her campaign promises!"

He exhales. "Politics _is_ perception, Madam President."

Warren is right. Eileen is right. I'm going down a slippery slope and risking re-election by going away with Alex. Not just _going away with her_—potentially pursuing a relationship with her. I'm only kidding myself if I think this will be a one-time thing. Eileen pointed that out yesterday, but I didn't want to add fuel to the fire. I'm developing feelings for Alex, and if I'm being honest with myself, they're probably _not_ one-sided.

"We brought you in on this because of your role as Communications Director." I stand, indicating this meeting is coming to an end. "You've already promised your discretion. Nothing you or Eileen say is going to make me change my mind about going away with Alex next week, but I assure you, we'll meet again when I return."

He doesn't meet my eye. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's all for now. Please show yourselves out."

I sit behind my desk after they leave and hold my head in my hands. For the first time in two years, I wish I wasn't the President of the United States.

* * *

The day before Thanksgiving, I do the annual pardoning of a turkey, and then head to my office to watch Jane give her final press briefing before the holiday. Eileen, Warren and I have met three times about my plans for Thanksgiving, and we agreed to keep Jane out of the loop for now despite her role as Press Secretary.

Eileen enters my office with Warren, closing my door. "She's about to start."

I turn on the television to watch the daily briefing.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Jane begins. "As you saw this morning, the President pardoned Thomas the Turkey followed by also pardoning Terry the Turkey."

The media giggles at this silly presidential tradition.

"The President will head to Camp David this evening for two nights. It'll be her first time celebrating a holiday there, and she's looking forward to, and I quote, 'communing with nature'."

"Jane?" One of the reporters raises her hand.

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"Who will the President travel with?"

"I assume there will be two Secret Service agents and the pilot of Marine One as well as several military personnel on the ground since Camp David is technically a military installation," she delivers with flawless levity.

"Perfect," Warren comments, eyes glued to the screen.

The reporters chuckle, but Cynthia's not finished. "What I meant to ask was with whom will the President spend the Thanksgiving holiday?"

"Then you should've asked a more precise question." Jane smiles. She has had great rapport with the press since day one. "President Chapman will be spending the holiday alone. She's using this time to, as she put it, 'recharge and reflect'. It'll be the first holiday without her husband, so please respect her privacy."

"I hate doing this to her," I confess.

"It's not a lie if she believes it to be true," Eileen says.

"This is best for now," Warren states. "If Jane knew she was lying to the press, she might not have been able to go through with it."

"It's why we keep her around," Eileen adds.

"One of the many reasons," I reply, turning away from the television when I'm confident no more questions will arise about Thanksgiving. "I'm going to wrap up here in the next hour or so, and then go to the residence before heading out. Any last issues we should discuss?"

"No, ma'am," Eileen says. "But please be careful and discreet."

Warren turns off the TV. "If you suspect anything suspicious or notice any of the guards acting strange, alert us right away."

"I will."

"Good luck, Madam President."

"Thank you both and Happy Thanksgiving."

* * *

Author's Note: This was one of my favorite chapters to write. Yes, I'm leaving you hanging, but I hope the anticipation is ripe and that the reward on Monday will be well worth the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: This chapter is rated M for The Nasty. I admit to stealing a scene from the movie _The American President_. No copyright infringement intended. If you've never seen it or it has been a while, do yourself a favor and watch some of Aaron Sorkin's best work.

* * *

Getting to Camp David is easy for me—a quick 20-minute helicopter ride on Marine One and I'm there. Getting to the presidential retreat by car is a little more complicated. Camp David is roughly 60 miles north of DC, which, without traffic would take about an hour. However, we don't live in a world without traffic—DC traffic in particular. So, while I get to enjoy the house and the grounds alone for a couple hours, Alex is stuck in traffic.

I ordered a limited staff at Camp David, which means three Secret Service agents in addition to a few military personnel. There's no cook, no housekeeper, and no personal aide, which means I have no one to talk to until Alex arrives. I made the mistake of trying to have a conversation with a Secret Service agent once, and it became very clear that they are taught not to converse with the President. They have a singular job and that is to protect me at all costs.

I don't mind the silence; in fact, I welcome it. The sun set about an hour ago, so I make a fire in the river rock fireplace, grateful for the assistance of a Duraflame starter log. Afterwards, I change into my favorite pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and then sit on the sofa with _Sex Scandals in American Politics_, a book I had to secretly buy using my old Amazon account that fortunately still had a valid credit card number attached to it. Before Alex arrives, I'll have to be sure to tuck it away.

About 30 minutes into reading a captivating story about both Franklin _and_ Eleanor Roosevelt having affairs, I hear a knock on the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Agent Spencer, ma'am. Ms. Vause is here."

I tuck the book under the sofa cushion. "Send her in, please."

Alex steps inside. "Hi."

"You made it." I hug her and experience a familiar _soaring_ feeling as soon as we touch. "How was the trip?"

"Frustrating." She sets her duffle bag down. "It took us an hour just to get out of city limits."

"Ugh, sorry."

She removes her jacket, hanging it on the coatrack next to the door. "And then the driver dropped me off basically in the woods. Seriously, the only thing around was a little wooden hut."

"What?" I usher her into the living room.

"This is beautiful," she says, glancing around the oversized room. "Cozy."

"It's only my third time to Camp David." I sit on one of the two couches. "I like it here. It's serene."

"Seems that way." She sits next to me, though there is an entire cushion between us, and I wonder if she's anxious.

I admit there are a few butterflies swarming in my stomach at the thought of what might happen—of what _I'd like to happen_, so if Alex is a little nervous, she's in good company.

Although Alex is in jeans, they're crisp and professional looking. She has on a blue button-down shirt that gives her the air of a businesswoman. I was hoping she'd show up more casually dressed, but perhaps she needs to ease into it.

"Anyway, you were saying?"

"Yeah, so the driver dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, called someone on a walkie-talkie and asked me to wait in the vehicle," she continues. "Two minutes later a Jeep with a Marine Corps insignia on the hood rolls up. The driver opens the door for me, and then gets my bag from the trunk of the first car. Before I know it, I'm in the front seat of this Jeep with a driver in full military gear."

"I had no idea that's how they'd transport you here."

"There were literally no other people around, no street signs or markers and it was dark. We probably drove two miles." She tucks one leg under her. "I finally asked the driver if we were headed to Camp David, and just as I got the words out, we came upon a wooden sign with the name on it."

"You must've been relieved," I chuckle.

"I don't know why, but I assumed it would be like an Uber, you know, drop me off at the front door and that's that."

"A Secret Service Uber?" Again, I laugh. "Maybe you're onto something."

She laughs along with me. "Anyway, I'm glad to be here, ma'am."

I cringe internally at her use of the term of respect. "I'm glad you're here, too."

"I see you've been here long enough to start a fire."

I stand, making my way to the kitchen. "I arrived about two hours ago so not that long. I started reading a book in front of the fireplace."

Alex follows. "Sorry I interrupted."

"I'm glad you did." I open a cupboard. "Want something to eat or drink?"

"I wouldn't mind a bite to eat," she replies, hand on her stomach. "I had an early lunch and here it is almost eight o'clock."

I open the fridge. "Looks like someone stocked the refrigerator."

Alex hands me a piece of paper. "There's a note."

I read it:

_Dear Madam President,_

_I took the liberty of preparing some meals for your stay at Camp David. Each container is labeled. Although I didn't pre-bake the turkey, there are instructions for how to prepare it if you so choose. Just be sure to take it out of the refrigerator an hour before you're ready to put it in the oven. _

_Happy Thanksgiving,_

_Chef Renoir _

"That was thoughtful," Alex comments.

"It was." I glance back in the refrigerator with a fresh set of eyes. "He really did stock it."

She reaches on the top shelf. "Looks like there's cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and cranberry sauce."

"Wow."

"Let's save those for tomorrow since it's not officially Thanksgiving," she offers.

I take two plastic containers out. "Tomato bisque or split pea soup?"

"Definitely the bisque." She opens the lid, sniffing it. "Smells good."

"There's a baguette we could toast."

"You want to heat the soup, and I'll put the bread in the oven?"

"Perfect."

We talk about how our week went at work, and Alex appears to still be enjoying her victory at the CSGV after securing the votes. She's moved on to statewide gun control initiatives while working closely with my staff on the Rappaport deal.

Over dinner, I broach the subject of her mother's visit.

"I'm sorry I pulled you away from time with your Mom."

"It's no problem, really," she says around a spoonful of soup. "She got in yesterday and we were able to spend the evening together and most of the day today."

I break off a piece of bread. "I didn't realize she was still planning to come to DC."

"She insisted," Alex replies. "And she didn't mind that I would be away for a couple nights. She's staying a full week, so I'll still have plenty of time to hang out with her."

"Where did you tell her you were going?" I butter the bread before popping it in my mouth.

"I told her it was a last-minute, unavoidable work trip." She takes a sip of water. "And that I couldn't divulge details at this point, but I'd tell her more about it in the future."

I dip the bread into my soup. "Do you think she was suspicious?"

She nods. "Yes, but I told her there would be times when I have to keep things confidential due to the nature of my job. I mean, it's not really a lie; there are things I can't tell her about legislation I'm working on."

"I'm sorry to have put you in this position." I reach for her hand, squeeze it once, and then release it.

We talk a bit more about her Mom and the things she's planning to do on her own while Alex is away, and after finishing the soup, she helps me load the dishwasher with the bowls and spoons we used.

"I haven't even gotten the grand tour," she says, looking around.

"The grounds are pretty impressive, but it's too dark to show you tonight," I say, leading her back into the living room. "It's not as big of a house as you might think. This is obviously the living room." We walk down one of two hallways. "Here's the formal dining room, a conference room and a bathroom."

"It's definitely not small," she comments.

"Well, it's smaller than my house," I offer.

She laughs. "Oh, you mean the _White House_?"

I smile at her observation. "There are four bedrooms on this wing." I show her each one. "And then there's the other side, which is the presidential wing."

"Of course." I picture her rolling her eyes because there's _literally_ a presidential wing, but I don't turn around to confirm it.

"There's a bathroom here that any guest can use, but you have to punch in a code to enter my private office and my bedroom." I key in the code to the office. "Don't look."

She grins. "Do you think I'm going to memorize the code so I can steal all of your belongings while you're asleep?"

"I don't know what's in your devious mind," I tease.

"I can assure you, ma'am," she chuckles and places a hand on my hip, squeezing it ever so slightly. "It has nothing to do with stealing your presidential trinkets."

The office is basic—a desk, two wingback chairs and a floral-print loveseat. It isn't as ornate as my personal office in my residence. I enter the bedroom from the adjoining door, once again punching in the six-digit code.

"This is my bedroom." I step to the side to show Alex where I _hope_ she'll be sleeping tonight but of course, keep that part to myself.

She touches the quilt on the bed. "Rustic and simple. I like it."

"Rumor has it, Lady Bird Johnson knitted that quilt." I move around to the other side of the room. "Eisenhower painted this landscape of the Catoctin Mountain Range from the back porch."

"I can't wait to see the view when it's light out."

"Rumor also has it that Patrick Bouvier Kennedy was conceived in this room. Of course, he was born way premature and died two days after birth."

She glances around the room. "I'm sure there are presidential secrets all over this place."

_I hope we have our own little secret by the end of our stay_.

"Maybe tomorrow we can go for a walk around the property," she suggests.

"I'd like that." I close both doors and head back to the living room.

I notice Alex's duffle bag sitting by the door. I don't want to make assumptions about where she'll sleep, so I leave the matter alone for now.

"So, here we are…" Alex trails off.

"Here we are." I move to the fireplace to pretend to warm my hands. I'm not cold.

She sticks her hands in her back pockets. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

That question has been lurking in my mind for weeks, but I've been too scared to voice it. "Probably not."

"If I were on your staff, I would tell you that the worst thing you could do going into an election year is open yourself up to character attacks," Alex states with an odd blend of steadfastness and uneasiness. "And the quickest way to do that is to prance around with not just a lobbyist, but a _female_ lobbyist."

It's just the two of us in the cabin—I don't know if we'll ever have this kind of privacy again—so I'm prepared to tackle her concerns head-on. "Number one, I have never been known to _prance_," I begin. "Number two, you're not on my staff, though don't think the opportunity to swipe you from the CSGV hasn't crossed my mind; and number three, it's not like I'm sending out a press release that says I might start seeing a female lobbyist."

Her lips quirk up. "_Seeing_?"

"Whatever you want to call it." I have no idea what to call what we're potentially about to undertake.

"I'm only thinking about the health of your presidency, especially as you run for re-election, ma'am," she responds.

I take a step closer. "Do you think there will ever be a time when you can _not_ think of me as the President?"

"This isn't a state of mind," she replies matter-of-factly with a vibrant head shake. "You _are_ the President and I'm a lobbyist."

"While that's certainly true, I have news for you, Alex." I blink up at her. "As a lobbyist, you'd never be alone in a room with the President of the United States let alone be at Camp David with me."

"I…" She twists her head slightly as if catching on. "So, when we met that first time in the Oval…"

I nod.

"And when we baked cookies…"

"Just how many non-government employees do you think get to explore the President's personal kitchen? Or enter my bedroom? Or come to Camp David?"

She raises her shoulders. "I don't know, three? Four?"

"One."

"One?" she repeats.

I nod. "One."

She scrunches her lips to the side like she's processing all this. "May I use your bathroom?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I jut my chin back. "Either one is fine."

I'm surprised she's chosen this moment to relieve her bladder, but it's easier to say what I want without having her in front of me, so I press on while watching her enter the nearest bathroom about 15 feet away. "I know I'm the one who invited you here, but perhaps things are moving too fast. It might be best if we slow it down until you feel perfectly comfortable not referring to or thinking of me as the President. For the rest of our stay here, you're not going to refer to me as _Madam President_ or _ma'am_ or anything associated with my role as the leader of the free world. You're going to call me Piper. I don't think that's too much to ask, especially in the privacy we've been afforded at Camp David."

I pour two glasses of Scotch, taking one in each hand, and when I turn around, I watch Alex step out of the bathroom wearing the blue blouse she arrived in, but _that's it_…and it's unbuttoned. The two-inch gap between the opening of her shirt reveals milky white skin, and it's then when I realize she's not wearing a bra—only lacy black underwear.

I stand there paralyzed, holding the two crystal glasses as she approaches me but keeps a fair amount of distance when she stops behind the sofa.

"I see we're not exactly on the same page about the slowing down part," I say when I'm finally able to speak. "I'm ok with that…No, I'm _great_ with that, but let me air my concerns before we…"

She wordlessly takes one of the glasses, and it's evident Alex now has the upper hand. She's as composed and self-assured as ever, and it turns me on even more.

"You may have come into this with expectations," I begin, eyes raking down her body. "Because I'm, you know—"

"The most powerful woman in the world?" She takes a sip of Scotch.

"Exactly," I reply. "But I'm going to need you to lower whatever lofty expectations you may have, because I haven't done this in a long time."

She smirks. "Had sex with a lobbyist?"

Alex radiates confidence, which only serves to increase my attraction to her.

"I've never had sex with a lobbyist," I reply.

"I don't have expectations," she says in a quiet but raspy voice. "And I'm surprisingly not nervous, but I can see you are."

"It's not that I'm nervous," I try, squeezing the rocks glass so hard I fear it'll break in my hand. "Well, yeah, I guess I am, but it's only because I haven't done this in a long time."

"You mentioned that."

"And I've never done it with a woman," I confess.

"Ah, there it is." She takes another slow sip of Scotch. "I'm happy to walk you through it."

My cheeks feel warm, and it's not only because of nerves. Alex _exudes_ sex, and I don't hold a candle to how sensual she is. "As long as you understand I'm probably not going to be good at it the first time."

"It's less about knowing what to do." She reaches out, brushing my hair behind my ear. "That will come in time. It's more about the connection."

"We have a connection," I say needlessly.

"We do."

"I didn't know if you'd…um…" Why won't words stop spewing from my mouth?

"You didn't know if I'd what?"

"I didn't know if you'd be attracted to me." I bow my head as if _now_ is the time to be bashful. "Emotionally, mentally, physically."

"Are you kidding?" she lets out an incredulous laugh. "You're brilliant, funny, well-read, powerful, articulate, not to mention beautiful."

"Articulate?" I stifle a giggle, relieved that she's offered a bit of levity to a weighty situation.

She shrugs. "I like a woman who speaks coherently."

"That's kind of an essential part of my job."

She grins. "Your job as President of the United States?"

I swallow hard, afraid to pose the question that's been lurking in my head but feeling the need to voice it before things go any further. "That's not something that intimates you?"

"The fact that you're the leader of the free world?" She takes my Scotch, setting both glasses on the end table. "No."

"Because I don't want you to be with me if you think you _have_ _to_ or something."

"Piper?" She tips my chin. "I'm not standing here practically naked in front of you because it's something I think I _have_ to do."

"No?"

She shakes her head, placing both hands on my cheeks. "No."

I wrap my hands around her wrists, and we lean in at the same time. Her lips are full and soft and maybe even magical. They feel like little pillows against mine. Alex presses harder and I follow her lead. She angles her head and one hand falls to my clavicle. I place my hand on her hip and concentrate on the way she makes me feel with one, simple kiss. When she darts her tongue out to lick my lower lip, I let out a soft moan and realize I've never been kissed like this.

My whole body comes alive and my senses are heightened. I hear the sounds of our lips meeting and contracting; I smell Alex's sweet perfume and taste the earthiness of her mouth—it's enough to make me explode. She moves her hand down to my breast, but she doesn't squeeze it. She simply runs her palm against my nipple until I can feel it harden. Alex must feel it too as she grins against my mouth. I move my right hand from her hip to her stomach, gently pushing the material of her blouse to the side. Touching her bare skin sends fire to my insides.

Alex's tongue begs for entrance and I greedily suck it into my mouth and moan again, this time louder. I never imagined feeling like this before being with her; I didn't think it was possible. She turns her head again, changing the angle and moving her other hand around to my lower back. She suddenly breaks from the kiss and looks me in the eye as if asking permission to take this further.

I pull her head back to me and smash our lips together in a much more urgent kiss. My right hand rolls over the curve of her ass, and I tug her closer. She snakes her hand up my shirt until landing on the same breast she was fondling seconds ago. Her fingertips find a way under my bra strap until they land on my nipple, and I just about lose it.

"You feel so good," I say.

Her lips leave mine and trace a line down my neck. She finds a particularly sensitive spot that causes me to moan, so she spends another few seconds bathing it with her tongue. My head rolls back, eyes slammed shut. I open them when I feel her other hand unbutton my jeans. It's then when I realize the curtains are wide open.

"Alex?"

"Hmm?"

"If anyone is out there…"

She follows my gaze. "We have two choices." Her mouth goes back to my neck. "We close the curtains." She pinches my taut nipple. "Or we go to your bedroom."

As much as I don't want to break the sexual momentum we have going in the living room, I don't want to risk being seen even if the people outside have signed documents and sworn secrecy.

"Bedroom."

We fumble down the long corridor to my room, hands and mouths now roaming all over each other. I touch her bare breast for the first time and nearly come undone at how smooth and soft it is. When I feel her erect nipple, I can't wait any longer. I stop in the hallway and kiss my way to her right breast.

"That feels good."

That's all I need to continue sucking her nipple.

"Bedroom," she says, pulling me by the hand to the end of the corridor.

"Fuck," I mutter.

"What's wrong?" Alex is behind me, both hands under my shirt and fingertips lowering into the waistband of my jeans.

"I forgot the code."

She stops her ministrations. "Seriously? You just entered it like 15 minutes ago."

"I have three chances to get it right or it'll lock and alert the Secret Service."

"_Fuck_." She pulls back, and I immediately miss the contact. "How many times have you tried?"

"Twice." I gulp.

Alex runs a hand through her disheveled hair. "Don't type it in again."

"I need to tell the agent outside."

"You want to tell a Secret Service agent that you forgot the code to get into your bedroom so you can have sex with a lobbyist?"

Despite how badly I want her and how turned on I am, I find her statement humorous. "A female lobbyist," I toss out.

She laughs as she pulls me tightly against her body, and we resume making out. Alex rips my shirt over my head and wastes no time unhooking my bra. When my chest is bare before her, she looks into my eyes.

"You are _so_ beautiful."

I can't take it anymore. I run my hands over her shoulders to her back, effectively taking her blouse off with the movement. It's my turn to stare at her breasts, and I dive down to suck the other nipple into my mouth. She only allows a minute of that before pinning me against the wall and thrusting her hips against me.

"Off," she commands.

I slip out of my jeans, but Alex didn't mean just my jeans. She lowers my underwear until they pool at my feet. I step out of them and stand there, completely naked. That's when she slows things down. Her touches become feather light and her kisses become deliberate and focused. She explores my body for what seems like an eternity.

"I want to see you," I whisper, tugging her back up until our faces meet.

With her shirt already removed, all that's left is her underwear. She slowly slips them down her legs and lets me look at her. If I thought I had lust in my eyes before, this makes that look like I was bright eyed. Our bodies join and she writhes against me. I can't touch enough of her flesh, and I assume she feels the same as the tempo increases again. I feel wetness pool in my center so severely that I'm afraid it's going to leak down my leg. Alex must sense this, so she touches me there and I nearly convulse. She runs her index finger up and down my slit several times, moaning about how wet I am, and that does it. I cum hard against her, bucking my hips and screaming her name. It goes on and on for nearly a minute, and Alex keeps touching me and watching my face contort until my orgasm subsides.

I collapse onto the floor, completely out of breath. "Are you kidding me?"

"Should I ask how good your first time with a woman was?" She sits beside me, holding my hand and bringing it to her mouth to kiss it. "Maybe pull out the old Likert scale?"

I let out a futile attempt at a laugh—I'm too spent to make it count.

"Was it a six? Maybe a seven," she teases. "How about an eight? Don't wound my pride."

I twist my neck and smile at her. "You know it was a ten."

Her eyebrow quirks up. "A ten, huh?"

"Yes." I tug on her bottom lip.

"I'm not sure if I like that," Alex begins, pulling my limp body between her legs so my back is to her chest. "There's no way I can go up if I start at a ten."

"I can't possibly fathom it being better than that."

"Oh, how little you know…" She starts fondling my breasts from behind, and I start getting horny again.

"Can it seriously happen again this soon?"

That warrants a snort. "You obviously have been having sex with the wrong person."

"I haven't had sex with _any_ person," I admit. "Not in a long time."

She twists my torso until I have no choice but to lie on my back. I watch her make a trail of sloppy kisses down my chest and stomach until she gets to the apex of my thighs. My hips lift off the floor with anticipation. She uses both hands to pin them down as she slithers more fully between my legs. The first lick causes me to see stars. I arch my back and let out a primal sound that I've never heard escape from my lips. The second, third and fourth licks result in the same experience. It isn't until the fifth time Alex drags her tongue up my pussy that I feel the muscles in my stomach tighten.

"Try to hold on," she requests, pulling back and apparently waiting for me to calm down.

"I can't, Alex. Please don't make me wait."

She cocks one eyebrow. "Is that an order, ma'am?"

"_Yes_," I pant.

She licks me with the full weight of her tongue and again, a powerful orgasm overtakes me. I have no control over my spasming body or how loud my cries become; all I know is that Alex has to put her hand over my mouth to stifle my cries.

"Shhhh," she whispers. "Normally I'm a huge fan of loud orgasms, but I would rather not have the Secret Service bust through the door thinking I'm hurting you."

I come down from euphoria and issue a faint smile at her remark—it's all I can muster.

She rolls up my body, wiping her wet mouth along my belly. "I'm going to enjoy sex with you."

"Why is that?" I ask through shallow breaths.

"A number of reasons," she begins. "You're incredibly vocal for starters. You taste as good as you look, which is to say fantastic, and your body responds to every little touch."

"Mmmm," I hum. "Keep going."

"Your mouth seems like it was made for mine. And your pussy…well…"

I eye her. "_Well_ what?"

"It's perfect," she answers.

I outline her lips with my finger. "Can I do you?"

She chuckles. "When you're ready, of course you can."

I hold her chin between my fingers. "I'm ready." Although my body is weak, I want to make Alex feel the way she made me feel.

I start with her breasts, spending more time on them than I've had the chance to yet. I love the way her nipples respond to me. My hand journeys to the top of her thigh, and it's Alex's turn to arch her back.

"I should tell you, Piper," she begins with hooded eyes. "I can't get the thought out of my mind that the President of the United States is about to go down on me, and that alone might make me cum before your mouth goes anywhere near me."

That causes me to smirk proudly as I slink further down her body. She's just given me the confidence I need to fuck her with my tongue.

"Did you picture it like this?" I ask, toying with her erotic thoughts. "The President's mouth on your center, tongue begging for entrance."

She slams her eyes shut and tosses an arm over them.

I open her pussy and stare at it, watching her clit twitch at my intense gaze. I fear if I touch it, she's going to explode, so I have to decide how I want this to go. Fingers? Lips? Tongue?_ I want to taste her_. I smell her very essence and can't wait to dive in, so I stretch out my tongue and lick her slick pussy. A line of juice strings from her opening to my lip, and I slurp it.

Alex comes undone. Her legs slam shut, which makes me lose access to what I want most, but she's too strong for me to pry her legs open, and she's cumming. I watch her face distort with pleasure as the waves wash over her, and it gets me wet again.

"Oh my God," she says at the end.

Just as she did to me moments earlier, I shimmy up her body, but I don't have enough of her juices on my face to wipe on her stomach. I never thought I'd be disappointed about that.

"I wasn't finished," I complain.

That causes a boisterous laugh. "I promise, you can do it again in a little while until your heart's content."

"Speaking of doing it again…"

She seems surprised. "Really?"

"Is that ok?" I ask as I scoot up her body.

"Fuck, yeah it's ok." She pulls my thighs until my pussy hovers over her face. "You're dripping, babe."

It's the first time she's called me _babe_ and it turns me on even more.

"You make me wet."

She gently rubs my inner walls with one finger. "Has that always been the case?"

"Since I first met you," I confess, moving my hips above her.

"I like that I made you wet when you couldn't have me," she says, popping her finger into her mouth and then returning it to my center. "But I like this better."

"Me, too." I lower my body, not giving her a choice about what happens next.

I ride Alex's face, moving my hips back and forth as her hands splay on my ass, helping me with the motion. My head tilts back and I have my third orgasm of the night. It's almost unfathomable that it's equally as powerful as the first two.

I slink down her body, leaving a wet trail down her chin, neck and chest. "I like that position."

"That's because it's a power position," she offers with a grin.

"Are you saying I like power?"

Her grin turns to a smirk. "Not at all."

We leisurely kiss for the next five minutes until I get a cramp in my lower back. "We really need to be on a softer surface."

Alex gets to her feet, and then helps me stand. "If someone would've remembered the code to her own bedroom, we wouldn't have this problem."

I smile up at her. "I should probably fix that."

She runs a hand down my bare arm. "We should get dressed."

I grab my shirt. "Do you really think I'd open the front door _naked_ and ask the Secret Service agent to reset the code on my bedroom door because I was too caught up in the throes of passion to remember the numbers?"

"You're cute when you're indignant."

"Don't come any closer." I hold a hand up. "If you touch me again, that will lead to another round of sex, which will more than likely end up in another round, and I really need to be on a mattress."

"Sounds like you're having trouble controlling your actions." She comes up from behind and dangling her arms over my shoulders. Her breasts are pressed against my back and I feel the small tuft of her pubic hair on my ass.

"I can control my actions just fine." I tilt my head to the left, betraying my words as Alex's lips fall onto the expanse of my neck. "Usually…" I moan. "Just not right now."

She spins me around. "Tell you what…we're going to get dressed in separate rooms so as to avoid the sexual temptation." She kisses my forehead. "And after we're both presentable, you're going to ask the nice Secret Service agent to provide you with the code."

"Ok."

Alex bends down to get her blouse off the floor and starts shrugging into it as she walks down the hallway and disappears. When she's out of sight, I lean against the wall and sigh. I've been nervous for _weeks_ about if and how we might be intimate, but what just happened on this very floor was beyond my wildest dreams. I had no idea kissing Alex would be so sensual and I certainly didn't think sex would be that good. I was not the most sexually active person in my younger years, and Larry and I had a lackluster sex life, so I wasn't expecting much from a physical encounter with a woman. Boy, was I mistaken. Sex with Alex is like poetry. To think that was our first time brings goosebumps to my arms. I know it'll only get better from here, but I can't fathom how that's possible.

I slip into my shirt and jeans, and then walk back to the living room to find Alex fastening the last two buttons on her blouse.

She grins. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?"

My hands immediately fly to my hair, flattening it. "No, why?"

"Go look."

I walk to a mirror on the far wall, noticing that my lips are swollen and my mascara is smudged. My hair needs more than my fingertips to straighten it. I look like I've been well and truly laid.

She approaches from behind, still grinning.

"Is this what after-sex looks like?" I ask, running my fingers through my hair.

She kisses the top of my head. "You wear it well."

Suddenly, I remember the code. "I got it!"

"Got what?"

"The code. I remember it."

She gives me a look. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." I walk briskly down the presidential corridor and enter the six digits, and the light turns green. "Thank God."

"Maybe you ought to write it down."

"I'm not allowed to." I walk into the bedroom. "I also can't write down nuclear codes."

She grins. "Just when I'm starting to forget about your job, you bring up nuclear codes."

"There will be many times when you're reminded of my position," I announce, stringing my arms around her neck. "But my hope is that we're able to exist like this in both worlds." I remove a lipstick smudge on the corner of her mouth. "This is unchartered territory, so let's try to be patient with each other as we figure stuff out."

"Sexy, funny and wise," she comments, kissing the pad of my thumb. "I like that in a woman."

"What else do you like in a woman?" I ask suggestively.

We spend the rest of the evening lazing about on the sofa in front of the fireplace. We're never more than an arm's length apart and can't seem to keep our hands off each other. Our attraction is palpable. If I knew it would be this good, I wouldn't have waited six weeks to allow it to happen.

"What's this?" Alex pulls out the book I'd been reading that's sticking out from under one of the cushions. She reads the title, "_Sex Scandals in American Politics_." A wide grin spreads across her face. "Is this yours?"

I snatch it from her. "Give me that."

Her grin morphs into a full-fledged smile. "Were you reading up on presidential affairs?"

"I wanted to know how other presidents kept things secret." I shove one of my sleeves past my elbow.

"Because things in the 21st century are so similar to things back in the 18th and 19th centuries when social media and 24-hour news channels were everywhere?" she laughs.

"We can learn things from the past even though times have changed," I defend myself.

Alex tugs at the hem of my shirt, effectively pulling me closer. "I think it's adorable."

I turn away, partially embarrassed by what she's discovered.

"I'm serious." She places her hands on both of my shoulders, forcing me to face her. "I love that you're doing your own little research on presidential affairs. It's endearing."

"I'm glad you think so."

She kisses the tip of my nose and then moves to her spot on the sofa. "Would it be terribly inappropriate to ask if we could turn on the news?"

"The _news_?"

"I'm a junkie," she replies with a shrug.

"Clearly." I reach for the remote control on the coffee table, and Alex uses that time to take advantage of my shirt hiking up, giving her access to my bare skin.

"If you're going to touch me like that, I can't promise you'll get anything out of the news."

"Shh," she whispers in my ear as we settle back into place. "Now that I've been given access to the most powerful woman in the world's body, I'm going to touch whatever bare skin I find while we watch this program. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you switch sofas."

I twist my neck to look at her. "Are you suggesting that my body is like Aladdin's magic lamp?"

"If I rub it and wish for something, do you promise to make it come true?"

"You just had sex with the President of the United States. Consider your wish granted," I reply.

Judging by her hand cupping my breast and the smirk on her face, I assume she agrees with my statement. She rolls me onto my back, positioning herself between my legs and kisses me hard on the mouth.

"I thought you wanted to watch the news?" I ask in a smart aleck tone.

"I did, but then you mentioned rubbing your body and, you know…" After kissing me several times, Alex readjusts on the sofa, and we're back to our original position of her spooning me. She reaches for the remote and hits the channel button, settling on the Fox News station.

"Are you fucking kidding?" I ask.

"Opposition research is far more important than hearing what your proponents are saying," she explains. "And I think that's the first time you said _fuck_ in my presence."

"I have staffers who do opposition research." I sit halfway up. "I don't tune in to Fox News."

"I can go watch it in the other room," she offers.

I want to throw a tantrum and get my way, but something tells me Alex is far too mature and intelligent not to see right through my struggle for power. "Can we at least limit our time on this channel?"

"Deal." She gently pushes me down so she can see the television better and turns the volume up.

They're doing a story about how immigrants shouldn't have rights in the US, and already, she's yelling at the television. On second thought, this could be amusing.

"_Immigrants deserve a chance. None of us in this room are Indigenous People," _Blaire Burnett, the US Citizenship & Immigration Services guest says. Of course, I know her personally_. "To lock immigrants up indefinitely goes against not only the Constitution, but against the very grain with which this country was built."_

"She's good," Alex comments.

"I hired her."

She pinches my side.

The debate continues with more Republicans than Democrats getting a chance to weigh in, but that's not surprising given it's Fox News.

"_Next up: Is the President really spending Thanksgiving alone?"_

I tense up. "What did he just say?"

"Aren't you glad I turned this on?"

"Not really. I'd rather be oblivious to the world around us as I continue to learn the wonders of girl-on-girl sex."

She laughs. "I promise to continue showing you the merits of lesbian sex after the news."

I trail a finger down her cheek. "Why not during the news?"

"That would definitely be hot but give me just a little longer to watch these asses make a mockery of the free press."

I lay my head back down on the throw pillow and concentrate on Alex's hand moving slowly across my abdomen. If I wasn't so turned on, the soothing gesture might put me to sleep.

I'm unaccustomed to people not doing exactly what I want, so allowing Alex to watch a channel I despise is new for me. She's not pushy, but she's steadfast. Although caving in has never been my strong point, I love that she's not afraid to go against me—her confidence knows no bounds. I'm not sure anyone else on the planet could not only put up with me, but also be my equal when it comes to getting what they want.

"_Welcome back to The Story," Martha MacCallum says. "Tonight, I'm joined by Neil Cavuto, anchor of _FNC'sYour World_. Good evening, Mr. Cavuto."_

"_Hi, Martha."_

"_So, the President is spending Thanksgiving at Camp David—_alone_—what do you make of it?"_

"_Well, Martha, it seems suspicious. We know she's not close with her family and we have no reason to believe she has any real friends, so I suppose we should buy her story," he says._

"_Her husband died not that long ago. Maybe what Press Secretary, Jane Hershberg, said was accurate—President Chapman needs time to reflect on her personal life and administrative priorities," MacCallum states._

"_You have a point there, but Thanksgiving is a solely American holiday. Never before has a sitting President celebrated alone."_

I lift my head. "What is he insinuating?"

"I'm sure we're about to find out."

"_Are you suggesting that President Chapman is celebrating the holiday with a secret list of guests?"_

"_It's possible," Cavuto says. "But the question is, why would she want to keep it secret?"_

"_Great question."_

"_I don't know; it just seems odd."_

"_Perhaps we'll learn more in the coming days." MacCallum turns back to the camera. "Next up: How the Democrats could've avoided the Iran conflict."_

"Fucking blowhards." I put my feet on the ground. "Have you had your fill?"

"Not nearly," Alex admits. "Don't you find this stuff fascinating?"

"No," I say. "You're not the target of their hostility."

She sits up, and for the first time in hours, we aren't touching. "Are you taking this personally?"

"Yeah, I am," I respond with a bit of wonder in my tone that she doesn't understand _why_. "I don't want anyone snooping around in my private affairs. It's one thing to blame my party for the war in Iran, which is completely ludicrous, but to come at me on a personal angle? It's infuriating."

She reaches for me. "They're grasping at straws, Piper."

"Yes, and how long will it take for someone to discover I'm with you over the Thanksgiving holiday?"

"You're worried about our time together getting leaked?"

I stand, scratching my forehead. "I wasn't before I saw that news segment."

"Trust me, Madam President." She gets to her feet, taking my hands in hers. "This is not going to get out. I haven't told anyone, Eileen and Warren are like vaults, and the Secret Service never speaks to anyone."

"I know I'm being paranoid," I huff. "It's just that I've never had an affair."

"This isn't an affair." She wraps her fingers around my face and looks me in the eye. "We're two adults who enjoy spending time together. We'll figure everything else out as time goes on."

"It's hard for me to live in the moment," I admit. "There's so much at stake."

"I know." She rubs my cheek with her thumb. "But I won't let you be a victim. If somehow someone finds out about us, I'll back away."

I lean my forehead against hers. "I'd never want to put you in that position."

"Here's hoping we never have to worry about it."

Even with my eyes closed, my lips find hers, and we kiss _meaningfully_—like we've just landed upon an understanding that doesn't have to be discussed any further.

"It's late," she notes. "Maybe we should go to bed."

I nod. Alex grabs her duffle bag and follows me to the bedroom. After washing our faces and brushing our teeth, we snuggle in bed together, both falling asleep in no time.

* * *

Author's Note: I hope after reading this that your patience has been rewarded by 19 pages of sexy yet a little snarky and sometimes dorky Vauseman.


	8. Chapter 8

For the first time in what seems like forever, I don't wake up to the shrill sound of my alarm clock or a phone ringing. Instead, I wake up to the feeling of someone rubbing my arm. _Alex_. I roll onto my back and see her propped up on an elbow, smiling down at me.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Madam President."

"Happy Thanksgiving." I smile back at her, and then I feel a frown forming on my face. "I thought after last night we'd gotten past you referring to me as the President?"

"I reserve the right to pull out the _ma'ams_ and _Madam Presidents_ when the mood strikes." She kisses my bare shoulder. "You were in a deep sleep."

"Was I?" I pull my arm out from under the sheet and brush Alex's hair behind her ear. "I haven't slept that well in a very long time."

"I'm glad." She lies on her back, tugging me closer.

I rest my head on her chest and wrap an arm around her waist. "How'd you sleep?"

"I woke up at some point in the middle of the night not remembering where I was, but other than a momentary freak out, I slept well."

"Good." I close my eyes, basking in the glow of waking up with her.

"I never thought I'd be here," she muses.

"_Here_ as in Camp David or _here_ as in you and I being together?"

"Both." She rubs my back. "I'm sleeping with the President of the United States," she chuckles. "I mean, that's wild."

"No wilder than my sleeping with a female lobbyist."

She glances down at me. "You're not going to win the _who has a better story_ game."

I blink innocently up at her. "But I always win."

"Fuck, you're cute." Alex tugs me up and kisses me.

We makeout for a few minutes before I feel my stomach growl. "I'm kind of hungry."

"Sex will do that to a person," she responds, kissing the top of my head.

I grin. "So in addition to hydration, food is important?"

"Critical." She swings her legs over the mattress, and I appreciate her naked backside as she walks into the bathroom.

"Mind if I take a shower?" she calls.

For a minute, I think about joining her; after all, I'm sure shower sex would be fun, but then my mind drifts off to work, and I know I need to check my e-mail.

"I don't mind." I get out of bed. "I'm going to quickly check my e-mail, and then scrounge up something to eat."

"Sounds good."

I reach for the first item of clothing I find, which happens to be Alex's flannel shirt that's draped on the chair next to the window. I sniff it, smelling the very essence of her, and decide to put it on. She can find something else to wear. I tug on a pair of sweatpants and pad to my office to see what hand the world has dealt me this morning.

I typically don't receive tons of e-mails—those mostly go to my staffers—but today, I have 67 unread messages. I scroll through them, scanning each one to ensure it doesn't need immediate follow up. There are three that I'll need to chat with Eileen about, but nothing urgent. I pick up my cell phone and see a couple of text messages, which means I'll need to call her now.

My conversation with my Chief of Staff lasts roughly 10 minutes, but fortunately there's nothing I really need to do on my end about the crises that have developed overnight. Warren will draft a statement that I'll have to proofread later about a train derailment in Philadelphia, and I'll have to touch base with Jane at some point this morning, but all in all, it's not a big news day. _Thank God_.

"Am I allowed to enter?" Alex asks from the doorway.

I close my laptop. "If I'm ever in a room with the door open, you're allowed inside."

"Any catastrophes to deal with today?" She stands across from me _finally_ wearing what appear to be old jeans and a maroon University of Chicago hoodie. "Nice shirt, by the way."

I look down at the flannel shirt I'm wearing. "It was the first thing I saw."

She grins. "Looks good on you."

"I'm holding it hostage until you return my National Geographic shirt." I get to my feet and slip out the side door into the hallway. "An Amtrak train derailed in Philadelphia late last night. Sixteen people were taken to the hospital with non-life threatening injuries." I make it to the kitchen. "I'll have to read Warren's statement a little later and talk to Jane about it as well. Other than that, everything seems fairly quiet."

"Good." She walks over to the window. "Mind if I open the curtains?"

"As long as you don't attack me where people can see us."

"Attack you?" She laughs, opening the curtains on three windows.

"With your mouth." I peer into the fridge, looking for breakfast items.

"I'll refrain from _attacking_ you with my mouth for now," she replies with what I'm positive is a smirk. "I think I saw some steel-cut oats in the freezer last night."

"That would be good." I open the freezer and spot the container. "We have some fresh berries to put on top, too."

"Perfect." Alex stands by the breakfast table. "Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day."

I glance out the window above the kitchen sink and see the sun casting shadows on the ground. "Maybe after breakfast we can go for a walk."

"I'd like that." She peers into the refrigerator. "Should we pull out the turkey to let it defrost?"

"I have no idea." I dump the oatmeal into a pot. "Chef left instructions in the binder."

She retrieves the binder and flips a few pages. "Here we go…_Your Heritage Turkey is just over eight pounds, so you'll want to bake it at 325 for roughly three hours_," she reads. "_Baste it with the drippings every 45 minutes._" She pauses. "Well, that's going to take some research."

I find the brown sugar. "It's too bad neither of us are cooks."

She closes the binder. "I'm going to set a timer to let the turkey rest at room temperature around one o'clock. Does that sound about right?"

"I have no idea."

She flips the page again and continues scanning Chef Renoir's notes.

"So we'd eat Thanksgiving dinner around four?"

"Yeah," she responds.

"I hope that gives us enough time to mess around," I say with a mock huff.

She places the binder on the counter, comes up behind me, and strings her arms around my waist. "You wanna mess around?"

I tilt my head giving her access to my neck. "I do."

She kisses it in several spots, and then pulls back. "I don't want to get too carried away. Let's eat breakfast, you know, for stamina."

* * *

After we eat breakfast and then spend another two hours in bed _not_ sleeping, Alex and I decide to take a walk around the grounds. We stroll along the designated path past the pool, tennis courts, a pond and a garden that's bursting with kale, squash and cabbage. We don't hold hands while outdoors, but we're never more than two feet apart. She tells me about the one time she went camping in Yosemite with friends from college and how she hated every minute of it. (Something about bugs and bears and sleeping in a tiny tent with a friend who snored the entire night.) I confess that being at Camp David was the closest I've been to camping other than a week-long summer wilderness camp when I was in sixth grade. That leads us to a discussion about our childhood years, and I'm fascinated by her stories about making the most of everything with very little money.

Predictably, Alex and I never run out of things to discuss. She's knowledgeable about everything from current events to music to foreign policy to literature. She's also quite the debater, I learn. In fact, during her senior year of college, she was the captain of the UCLA debate team. This little nugget might prove useful when I'm preparing for the presidential debates. Other than not knowing how to cook or survive in the wild, she's got a pulse on everything under the sun.

As we make our way back to the house, I bring up a topic that's been nagging me. "Do you think this trip is a one-time thing?"

"Are you asking if it's possible for us to travel together after this?"

"I guess." I toss a pine branch out of the way. "Or is this one moment in time when we get to be together without being examined under a political microscope?"

"I think we're compatible," she begins with lightness in her tone. "And I'd like to think that if you weren't the President of the United States, we'd start seeing each other or dating or whatever you want to call it," she finishes.

I ask the $50 million question: "Should we _not_ pursue this because of my job?"

She shrugs. "You tell _me_."

Alex isn't someone to overreact, but I thought my questions might surprise or even startle her. She hasn't given me any indication that she's uneasy about where this conversation is headed.

"If we try to keep our relationship secret, someone is bound to find out," I reply, stopping under the shade of an oak tree. "I don't want to be part of a sex scandal—I wouldn't put either of us through that."

"It's not like we can announce we're a couple," she states.

I bite my lower lip. "_Are_ we a couple?"

"It feels like we're moving in that direction," she lets out a soft, innocent sort of laugh.

I blink up at her. "There's so much at play. It's not like we have the luxury of seeing how things progress. We would need to have a plan."

"This is the part I don't like," she admits as we make our way back to the house.

I wipe my boots on the mat before stepping past the Secret Service agent and going inside. "Let's put all options on the table. We can talk about how each of them might play out, and of course, how they could affect both of us professionally."

Before joining me in the living room, Alex takes the turkey out of the fridge and sets it on the counter. When she enters the room, I'm just finishing lighting two candles on the coffee table.

"Those smell good." She breaths in the scent. "Like pumpkin pie and apples."

"Fall candles are my favorite." I set the matches on the mantle.

She sits on the sofa. "Where do we begin?"

For the next hour, we toss out every possible scenario of us being a couple and discuss the possible consequences. The two primary options aren't surprising, and if I broke them down into the simplest terms, it's either we come clean about our relationship or hide it for the foreseeable future. We're leaning towards coming clean, but if we go that route, I have to be ok with character attacks and not being re-elected. Alex's name would likely be smeared, too, and she'd probably be seen as a whore who had sex with me for professional gain. No matter how you slice it, we'd both risk our jobs.

She puts the turkey in the oven, and then joins me back in the living room. "I have an idea."

"I'm listening." I rotate my neck from left to right, hearing to the tendons pop.

"What if we do nothing?"

"_Nothing_?" My head snaps up. "That's your idea?"

She nods. "We hang out as often as we can in plain sight, but we don't hold hands or kiss or anything that would lead to people thinking we're a couple."

"Go on."

She paces in front of me. "People would eventually begin to suspect something more is going on, but you can work with your communications team to say we've become friends…or become close…whatever you decide."

"It still lands us in the same spot," I respond.

"All the while, you're still making America a better place to live. You're helping mayors and governors solve the homeless crisis, you're continuing to make sweeping changes to the way people buy and use guns, you're providing healthcare to thousands. The list goes on." She stops in front of me. "In other words, you continue to be effective at your job and show the world that whatever happens in your personal life doesn't affect your ability to lead the country."

"That all sounds great, but as soon as Republicans suspect I'm in a same-sex relationship, they'll pounce."

"You have some of the best minds in the world working for you," Alex replies. "They can defend your honor, reminding Americans about all the good you're doing, or they can say the White House doesn't comment on the President's personal life." She starts pacing again. "That's it—the White House sticks to the whole not commenting thing, but your team works closely with the Democrats who make the rounds on political talk shows, feeding them sound bites about all you've accomplished in such a short amount of time." She sits on the edge of the coffee table and grabs my hand. "It's the best chance we have if we want to be together."

I know it's not a fail-proof solution, but Alex's right—it's the best strategy we've got. Still, I need to be prepared for assassination of character, plus I also need to be alright with the fact that I might not win a second term. What would I do with my life if I wasn't in politics? I'll need to chew on that.

"I'll run it by Eileen and Warren when I return." I grab her hand. "Are we really going to do this?"

She smiles. "I want to be with you, Piper. If this is what it takes to make it happen, I'll put up with some name calling along the way."

"I'm afraid it'll be a lot worse than that," I admit with a regretful smile. "But I want to be with you, too."

She leans forward, kissing me. It's similar to our very first kiss—soft, tender and with the promise of much more. Alex moves to the sofa, gently lowering me until my back hits the cushions. We hold each other and kiss without taking things too far. This moment isn't about carnal desire—it's about a budding commitment to face the odds together.

* * *

Our Thanksgiving feast is delicious, including the turkey that Alex roasted. Instead of exhausting the conversation about our relationship, we discuss past Thanksgivings and our favorite holidays. We're back to form in our ability to discuss anything, and once again, I'm reminded of how easy it is to be with her.

On our second night together, we build a roaring fire and turn on the stereo. Not surprisingly, we have similar taste in music though Alex went through a heavy metal stage that I never did. We play a few card games, eat slices of pumpkin pie and laze around the house in our pajamas. It isn't until we're ready for bed that we have sex again, and much like earlier that day, it's slow and deliberate. Turns out, I love going down on Alex, so I spend an inordinate amount of time exploring her folds with my mouth. This time around, she has much more willpower than I do and lasts almost 20 minutes before an orgasm rolls through her. On the other side of the spectrum, if she licks me even ten times, I'm gone.

We don't get out of bed until 9 a.m. on Friday morning, and both of us feel a sort of sadness that this will be the last time we get to be together in a nearly carefree environment. Even if she spends the night with me in the future, there won't be the kind of privacy we have out here. She'd have to badge in and out of the East Wing, and her name will be recorded in the guest registry. The good news is that my personal guest list is private. If, however, Alex checks in to the West Wing, it's open to the public.

Not long after eating a quick breakfast and packing our bags, we stand on the porch together, waiting for our rides. Marine One lands on the helipad, and the force of wind rushing through the blades is so strong that it creates a windstorm around us.

"You're literally getting whisked away," Alex says through a smile.

"I wish you could come with me."

"Good morning, ma'am." A Marine in uniform salutes me, and then takes my luggage. "Whenever you're ready."

"I should wait for your car to arrive," I say to Alex over the clamor of the helicopter.

"It's nice of you to offer, but I don't think that's how this works," she replies through a chuckle. "Go. I'll be fine."

I shield my face from the wind, which is causing my hair to slap my face. "I want to kiss you goodbye."

"We just spent five minutes kissing inside not to mention the rounds of sex we had earlier this morning," she says, finding humor in the situation. "Please go, Madam President, before we change our minds and lock ourselves in the house forever."

I smile. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"Thank you for everything."

With that, I walk with a Secret Service agent to Marine One. I buckle into my seat and watch Alex standing on the porch. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd leap out and run to her like the end of a cheesy movie. Sadly that's not in the cards. We lift off, and when we're about 50 feet in the air, I see a Jeep pull in front of the house to take Alex home. And just like that, it's back to reality.

* * *

I arrive at the White House 25 minutes later, and as I walk to the Portico, I spot Eileen, Blake and Warren waiting for me.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Madam President," they all greet me.

I return the sentiment. "What have I missed?"

We walk through the halls of the West Wing as each of them fills me in on surface-level stuff. It isn't until we get behind closed doors when they mention classified information.

I spend the next hour meeting with them, followed by another hour and a half in the Situation Room. The day progresses as such without a moment for me to catch my breath. That is to say, it's exactly what I expected after being gone for two days.

Just before seven o'clock that evening, I ask Eileen and Warren to hang back and chat with me. I'm sure they've been waiting anxiously for me to fill them in about how things went with Alex, and there's no reason to keep them in suspense.

"How was your time at Camp David?" Eileen asks as soon as the others depart.

"It was great." I sit in the chair between the sofas. "The weather was perfect."

"It certainly was." This string of pleasantries can only last so long, so I wait patiently for the _real_ questioning to begin.

Instead of Eileen beginning the inquiry, I'm surprised when Warren pipes up. "If I may ask, Madam President, how did things go with Ms. Vause?" Subtlety is evident in his writing, not so much in his verbal communication.

Eileen side-eyes him. "I was getting there, Warren."

I cross my legs. "That went very well, too."

"Figured as much," she mumbles to him.

"Without filling you in on all the details, Alex and I have decided we want to be together." It feels so fucking good to say those words, though I know they won't be met with congratulatory hugs.

"I see," Eileen tries to contain a sigh, but I know her too well for it to be fully disguised. "Did you happen to come up with a plan that will allow you to be a couple while also winning re-election?"

"We did," I proudly state.

I share Alex's plan with them, but they aren't as enthusiastic as I am.

"All this is really going to do is buy you time, ma'am," Warren notes. "Eventually, you're going to have to come clean or risk getting caught."

"I realize that," I start. "I need your help in identifying allies—influential people who can be on our side and talk to the media when the time comes."

"_Our_ side?" Eileen asks skeptically.

"Yes." I give her a pointed stare. "Unless you've tendered your resignation, it's _our_ side."

She tightens her jaw.

I uncross my legs and perch my elbows on my knees. "I get that you're not on board with this plan or even with me being with Alex at all, but you're going to need to find a way to not only deal with it, but to also respect it."

"Yes, ma'am," she replies robotically.

I turn to Warren. "I want to fill Jane and Blake in on Monday. Meantime, you two will come up with that list of allies. Any questions?"

"No. Thank you, President Chapman," Warren replies.

I eye my Chief of Staff once more before she exits. She's not going to change my mind about this. I know it will be difficult to win this battle, but I remind myself, it'll be worth it in the end.

* * *

Every week throughout my presidency, I've done a meet & greet with guests at the White House. Usually the people on this special tour are ones with personal connections, but sometimes it's a random family or person who has a lucky day. I have every intention of making that happen for a very special woman.

"Hello, Madam President," Alex answers her cell. I can hear voices and glasses and plates clanking in the background.

"Hi." I smile into the receiver. "Can you talk?"

"I'm having dinner with my Mom, but I can step away." I hear her chair scrape against the floor as if she's backing it out to find a private space to chat to me.

"I won't keep you."

I hear Diane ask, "_Is that really her?"_

"Keep me as long as you want," Alex responds, flirting with me enough for me to notice but unlikely that her mom does.

I wish I could keep her as long as I wanted, but not on the phone. "I'm calling to invite your Mom to the White House on Monday."

I picture Alex covering her phone to deliver the invitation to her Mom.

"Are you serious?" Diana gasps.

Her daughter replies, "Yeah."

Alex relays the message to me. "She said it would be an honor."

"Good. Give her Mrs. Willoughby's number and ask her to call before nine Monday morning."

"Will do," she says. "Anything else?"

"Call me later?" I whisper as if anyone can hear me.

"Yes, ma'am."

Alex and I decided it was best to keep Diane out of the loop about our relationship, but if and when speculation begins in the media, she'll be one of the first to know about our coupledom.

That night, Alex calls on my private line, and we spend an hour talking about our day. Although it has to be this way for now, I wish I could see her in person. With her Mom in town and with our plan not yet fully in place, I am not afforded that luxury.

* * *

Turns out, Diane Vause is as exuberant in person as she is on the phone. She's overwhelmed at the opportunity to meet me, and when I invite her into the Oval Office, she just about explodes with pride.

She glances around the room with awe. "I can't believe I'm really here."

"I wish I could talk for more than the five minutes I have, but I've got a meeting with the Supreme Court Justices soon," I say.

"If I had a quarter for every time I heard that," she jokes.

As I mentioned to Alex at Camp David, no one without extreme security clearance gets to meet with me alone, so my personal aide is in the room with us, though she remains a wallflower.

"Please, have a seat." I gesture to the exact spot where her daughter sat when I realized I had a crush on her. "How has your visit to DC been?"

"It's been fantastic. I've visited the International Spy Museum and the Smithsonian, strolled along the National Mall, and had a guided night tour of the monuments," she begins. "Last night Alex took me to a fancy dinner the Old Ebbitt Grill."

I smile. "You've been busy."

"None of that compares to meeting you in the Oval Office," she beams.

"Happy I could make it work," I reply. "Thank you so much for your support, Diane."

"_My_ support?" She holds a hand over her heart. "Thank _you_ for everything you've done for this country! We've needed a woman like you to make real changes in America, so it should be me showing gratitude to you."

"I also wanted to, I don't know if _thank you_ is the right phrase but it'll do, for your daughter and what she has meant to m—" I start to say _me_, but then quickly change the word. "To my administration."

"Isn't she great?" Diane gushes.

If only she knew just how _great_ her daughter was in my estimation. "Her creative solution to get the gun law passed in the House was like nothing I've ever seen."

"I'm so proud of her."

"You have every reason to be." I stand, reaching out my hand. "I hope our paths cross again one day."

She follows suit, shaking my hand. "Wouldn't that be something?"

I grin. "It would."

"Thank you again, President Chapman. It's an honor."

I want to hug her, but she might think that's odd or even suspicious. I don't want her to have any reason to think something's going on behind her back, so I settle for the handshake and an earnest goodbye.

* * *

Author's Note: Your reviews have been overwhelming. Thank you SO much! I can't resist writing Diane Vause into my stories. I just love her so much. And for those of you who asked for a Christmas story this year, I think I'm going to do it. Just need to put this one to bed before I start writing anything else.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex and I don't see each other the week after Thanksgiving or the week after that. We continue talking on the phone every night, sometimes spending more than an hour chatting. I'm still getting to know her as much as she's getting to know me as someone other than the President. I double check with my staff that calls I receive or place on my private phone line and my mobile aren't being recorded, because I have every intention of having phone sex the next time we talk.

Now that Jane and Blake are aware of my relationship with Alex, they work closely with Warren and Eileen to devise a strategy for how we'll start slowly revealing our relationship. By _slowly_, I mean at a snail's pace.

"We can't have you appear in public by yourselves right out the gate," Eileen says.

Warren nods. "We need to find a few outings where Alex could be among a small group of people so as not to arouse suspicion."

"I can't believe I'm going to offer this, but here it goes," Eileen sighs. "My birthday party is next week. I've worked closely enough with Alex to put her on the guest list."

"That would be perfect," I respond. "How many people plan to attend?"

Jane flips a few pages in her notebook. "We have 28 guests confirmed; I should have updated numbers tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Warren replies. "Add Ms. Vause to the list."

With that, everyone files out and I'm left with a bit of hope that the slow game will work.

* * *

That night, I call Alex and tell her the plan. She's fine with it, though I get the sense she doesn't care for _staging_ how our relationship will be rolled out to the public. I agree with her, but there really is no other solution and it was Alex's plan from the beginning.

"I was thinking…" I change the subject. "In the absence of being in each other's company, we could umm…you know…"

"We could what?" she answers.

"Do I really have to spell it out?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "Believe it or not, I'm not a mind reader."

I look around conspiratorially even though no one is in my bedroom. "Have phone sex," I whisper.

That earns me a cackle.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"Sorry, I'm not…Well, I _am_, it's just that I didn't expect this conversation to take a 180-degree turn," she responds. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Good." I climb into bed. "How does it work?"

"You've never had phone sex?"

I shake my head. "No."

"You really _have_ led a sheltered life," she comments. "Ok well, we just start talking about what we want to do to each other. Like I might say I'd like to suck your nipple."

"Oh." I didn't expect to jump right in. "Ok…so, should I touch my breast?"

"If that would make you feel good, yeah," she says. "Picture my tongue flicking it over and over until it's hard."

"Uh huh."

"Now imagine my hand gliding down your body, reaching the apex of your thighs," her voice thickens.

I fumble with the phone, trying to touch my breast with one hand and my inner thigh with the other. "I'm going to have to put you on speaker."

I hear Alex trying to contain laughter.

I place my mobile phone on the bedside table. "Is this working?"

"Yes. Are you touching yourself?"

"Now I am." I continue rubbing my nipple and toying with the soft skin of my inner thigh. "I should probably tell you to touch yourself, too."

"Alright."

"Ok, so, touch yourself, Alex. Feel your nipple harden."

"You could try a little variety since I'm already telling you to touch _your_ nipple."

"Oh." Turns out, I am _very_ bad at this. "Put your finger on your, uh, your vagina."

She laughs so loud if the phone was next to my ear, I'd have to pull it away.

"What's so funny?"

"_Vagina_ is not a sexy word. Like, ever."

"What should I call it then?"

"Pussy is good," she says, still chuckling.

"Ok, touch your pussy for me," I try again.

Alex takes a deep breath and I can almost picture her trying to get back in the mood (if ever she was in the mood.)

"Are you doing it?" I ask.

"Yes."

I resume my ministrations on my breast and close my eyes. "Now, rub your clit."

Just when I start to get the hang of it, my landline rings.

"_Fuck_," I mutter. "I have to get this." I pick up the other phone. "Hello?"

"Madam President, it's Eileen. We have an urgent matter and need to brief you immediately."

"Can it wait?" Yes, that idiotic question left my mouth before I had a chance to reel it in.

"I'm sorry; it can't," she pauses. "There are riots in the streets of Detroit. People are lighting cars and structures on fire."

I swing my legs off the mattress. "What happened?"

"Another case of police brutality against two African-American males."

"I'll meet you in my office in 10 minutes." I hang up that phone and pick up my mobile. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," Alex answers.

I shrug into a pair of pants. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"So I heard."

I clasp my bra. "I promise I'll get better at this."

"At responding to national crises or phone sex?"

I let out a light laugh. "I don't know how long this is going to take, so we'll have to talk tomorrow."

"Ok," she says. "And good luck."

I quickly finish getting dressed and try to reset my brain to presidential matters rather than my feeble attempt at having phone sex with my girlfriend. By the time I enter the Oval Office, thoughts of where Alex wanted me to touch myself have vanished.

* * *

I'd requested months ago that my staff would host Eileen's 65th birthday in early December. I had Blake work with the White House event coordinator to get it just right. Although it's not a surprise party, Eileen knows very few details other than the place and time (she also had input on the guest list). We limited the attendance to no more than 50 guests, and as of this morning, 43 people plan to attend, including Alex.

At four o'clock that Friday afternoon, I join the festivities in the Mural Room. There are passed hors d'oeuvres, a beer and wine bar, and a massive cake that looks more like a wedding cake than a birthday one. Tasteful and colorful helium balloons are floating around the room as guests join in lively conversations.

I scan the room for Alex, who I find sipping wine and chatting with Blake. My lips tug up. Earlier today, I met with Warren and Eileen about how much interaction I should have with Alex, and they instructed me to "be around her" off and on for no more than five minutes at a time. There are a few photographers in the room, including the White House photographer and two of our most trusted allies. Warren worked with them to capture moments at the party that will be released to the press.

I approach Alex and Blake. "Enjoying yourselves?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blake responds.

"The wine is delicious." She raises her glass.

"Hi." I can't help the blush that spreads across my cheeks. Being in the same room with Alex still gives me goosebumps. "What are you drinking?"

"A fairly oaky Chardonnay." She takes a sip. "Can I get you something?"

I almost laugh at her sincerity. "I think Chris is getting me a glass of red."

I notice all three photographers snapping shots of us, so I ensure there's enough distance between us. In fact, I'm standing closer to Blake than Alex. We make small talk for a bit, and I lose track of time. Of course, Warren is keenly aware of how long I spend in Alex's presence, so he whisks me away to join another conversation when my five minutes are up.

The evening goes much like this, but I can hardly take my eyes off Alex. It's not only because we're starting this new relationship, but she's also strikingly gorgeous. No one else in the room is nearly as beautiful as she is, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who's drawn to her tall figure and long, black hair. When she laughs and tosses her neck back, it takes all my strength not to walk over and find out what's so funny. Trouble is, I'd want to place my hand on her back or her arm, maybe kiss her, and none of those things can happen in public.

Two hours go by, and the party winds down as guests announce dinner or travel plans for the weekend. I'm called away for a briefing about an explosion on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, and I'm disappointed that I wasn't able to say a proper goodbye to Alex.

I make it back to my bedroom just after nine and am stunned at what I see in front of me: Alex is lying in my bed, back resting against the headboard, reading a book.

I'm sure the shock is evident on my face. "What are you doing here?"

She lowers the book and smiles. "I thought you'd never come back."

"Not that I'm complaining, but they let you into my bedroom?" I walk over to her.

She juts her chin towards my office. "I'm not exactly alone."

I notice the Secret Service agent posted _inside_ my office. "Ah."

She tosses the book aside. "Kind of hard to get comfortable when there's a set of eyes staring at me."

"Agent Spencer, you can leave now. Thank you."

"Yes, ma'am." She returns to her post outside my door.

I lean over for a kiss. "This is a welcome surprise."

"I thought you might appreciate it."

We spend the night talking about Eileen's party, which leads to a discussion about our birthday parties growing up. Alex tells me about her 16th birthday when she got her driver's license and feeling that first sense of freedom. Although she didn't own a car until after law school, she borrowed her mom's "old clunker" as often as she was allowed. I tell her about my 10th birthday when my father thought it would be a good idea to turn our backyard into a petting zoo, but one of the goats got loose and trampled on the cake and knocked over the table of gifts.

By 11 o'clock, we're both exhausted and settled into bed, but we're not too tired for a round of sex. I have to admit, having _real_ sex with Alex beats the hell out of phone sex.

* * *

Only two networks show the pictures from Eileen's party where I'm standing next to Alex. MSNBC comments about the guest list, pointing out that Alex from the CSGV attended. Warren seems pleased with the coverage, but Eileen had hoped they would've reported about Alex's presence a little more. It's not that she wants people to begin speculation about our relationship, but just a bit of buzz about what a lobbyist is doing as a guest at the Chief of Staff's birthday party would've been a good start to give a hint of Alex being around more often.

The next opportunity for us to be seen together happens ten days later at a dinner I'm hosting for the leaders of the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence. This gathering is far more intimate than Eileen's party and is directly related to Alex's work. Vince Booker, the president and founder of CSGV, will be there along with Alex and Edwin Nowak. Since Eileen, Blake and Warren continue to work with Alex on the Rappaport deal, they'll also join us. Warren figures this will stoke the fire with the media, but again, it's not shining a light on our relationship.

In the days leading up to the dinner, Alex and I speak every night, but I don't get to see her at all. Between the protests in Detroit, the skirmish in Iran and everything in between, I have a full schedule every day that hardly allows for a bathroom break much less a quiet evening with Alex.

"Madam President?" Chris knocks on my bedroom door. "Your guests from the CSGV are here. They're in the Presidential dining room."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Thank you." I shrug into a light gray sweater dress with a cowl neck and long, fitted sleeves. I haven't worn this dress before, but I like that it's sophisticated yet cozy—at least that's what my stylist tells me. I dab on a little lip gloss and fluff my wavy hair before heading to the dining room eager to see Alex.

Eileen greets me at the entryway. "I just got word that the Detroit mayor and police chief will be available by phone first thing tomorrow morning."

"Ok, thanks." I spot Alex on the far side of the room and try to control the grin that's surely playing with the corners of my mouth.

She must be telling Blake and Edwin Nowak a story, because she's gesticulating and talking through laughter. The men seem to be amused by whatever she's telling them, and I'm curious to know myself. Instead of rushing to her side like I want to do, Warren gets my attention and I know what that means—keep my distance from Alex for now. Rather than listening to Alex regale people with funny stories, I get the pleasure of conversing with my Communications Director and Vince Booker while we nibble on prosciutto wrapped melon and enjoy a glass of Viognier.

After playing it cool for 15 minutes, I greet both Edwin and Alex with a handshake. I don't remember the last time we greeted each other this way. I want to allow our clasped hands to linger a little longer, but she's the first to pull away. There's a gleam in her eye, and I hunger to know what she's thinking. If it's anything close to what _I'm_ thinking, shame on us.

For these types of dinners, only a White House photographer is allowed in the room. The guests can take selfies on their phones, but every photograph must be approved before it gets posted on social media. There has been only one incident when a guest took an unapproved picture and posted it to Facebook, and that person's White House credentials were revoked permanently, and the photo was taken down within five minutes.

I sit at one end of the table and Booker sits at the far end. Although I'd love for Alex to be next to me, she's at the other end next to her boss' boss. Edwin gets the privilege of sitting to my left and Eileen to my right. Alex and I make eyes at each other throughout the three-course meal, and I get two kicks to the shin from Eileen for making it too obvious.

When the meal is finished, I want to whisk Alex upstairs to my bedroom, though I know that's not going to happen tonight. She arrived with her co-workers, and I suspect she'll leave with them. Before she leaves, I hug her, a move I'm not sure I have permission to do. I don't glance at Warren or Eileen; instead, I focus on the woman in my arms, basking in the warmth of her embrace. I don't care if the photographer snaps this shot; after all, he works for me, and no pictures will be released without Warren's approval.

Warren asks Eileen and I to meet for a few minutes after our guests depart, and he shows us ten photos he's thinking about releasing to the press. We pick three of them, including the one of Alex and I hugging.

"It's a bit of a risk." He scratches his chin. "But this will be a good litmus test."

"If the media runs a story with it, we'll know we need to dial your public time with Ms. Vause back," Eileen states. "If it generates a little buzz, we have them right where we want them."

"I trust you," I respond. "Do whatever you have to do."

With that, I go to my bedroom and call Alex for one of our many late night talks.

* * *

Sure enough, there's buzz on the major news programs, including Fox News. They flash the picture of Alex and me hugging with a caption above it that reads, "Who is Alex Vause?" They bring in no fewer than three pundits to discuss the answer to that question.

"_Fox News has identified the woman in the photograph as lobbyist Alex Vause." The camera switches to a man in what appears to be another studio. "Marty, what do you make of this?"_

"_Well, Sarah, this isn't the first we've seen of Alex Vause. She works for the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence out of Virginia and was instrumental in getting the votes needed to pass the President's bill earlier this Fall," he reports. "She's been a mainstay around the White House since the passage of that bill, mostly working with Eileen O'Sullivan and Blake Latham on the Rappaport deal."_

"_That would explain why she attended last night's dinner with the President."_

"_Yes, but it doesn't explain why the two of them hugged."_

"_Any thoughts?" the reporter asks._

"_Perhaps she's become friends with the President," he offers. "Vause was also at the Chief of Staff's birthday party a little more than a week ago, so clearly she's tight with someone in the administration."_

_The reporter smiles. "Let the speculation begin."_

I immediately call Alex. "Did you see the segment on Fox News?"

"It's 5:30 in the morning," she responds in a groggy voice. "I'm just getting out of bed."

"I thought you were a news junkie?"

"I am, but not this early."

I relay the content of the story, and she seems nervous but a little pleased. "I need to tell Vince and Edwin about us."

"Not yet," I reply. "Let me talk to Warren and Eileen before you do anything. I'll be in touch soon."

"Ok, have a good day."

"You, too."

Although my 'coming out' with Alex seems like the most important thing to me, it's not the most important thing to the country or to my job as President. In fact, I spend a total of 10 minutes a day talking to my staff about Alex and the rest of the 10-12 hours a day governing our country.

Eileen and Warren are fine with the media coverage, though I sense both are concerned about what this is going to do to my re-election chances. Eileen hasn't brought the matter up in several weeks, but I know it's lurking in her head. They agree that the next step will be a staged moment of Alex and me alone, but they haven't figured out the plan or how to execute such a dalliance yet.

* * *

Another week goes by and my team has devised a strategy for my first real outing with Alex. I'm not a big fan of what they come up with, but I trust that this is the correct angle even if it feels uncomfortable.

"It feels wrong," Alex comments next to me in the car.

It's the first time we've ridden anywhere together so that alone is a big step. Of course, we're not alone—Warren, Eileen and Chris are in the vehicle with us.

"It doesn't feel _wrong_ to me, though it wasn't my first choice," I reply. "If I don't trust my team to get this right, we probably wouldn't get very far going at it alone."

She gazes out the window, and I can see uneasiness on her face.

I squeeze her hand. "Whether we're ready or not, it's time."

The car parks and the driver holds the door open for me. Alex and I exit in the pouring rain, while Eileen and Warren stay inside. My personal aide is there with an umbrella, and I quickly duck under it. Alex falls in line behind me, and an agent hands her an umbrella.

Just as Warren promised, there are four photographers from news organizations waiting for me to arrive at Woodland Cemetery. I walk past them, hearing the click of cameras and hoping to God this works. Although this whole thing is staged, I am here to pay my respects to Larry.

We continue walking silently past two rows of headstones, and then come to my husband's tomb where a man in uniform salutes me. Chris hands the umbrella over to me and takes a few steps back to fall in line with the others. I lower my head in front of the grave for a couple minutes, saying a quick _thank you_ and _I'm sorry_ to Larry. I'm still not over my guilt about staying with him, and my guess is that nagging feeling will never fully subside. I lay a bouquet of flowers on the grave, and then step back, handing Chris the umbrella.

Alex is immediately to my right, head bowed. I take her hand in mine, squeeze it once, and then drop it. Despite their being only four photographers at the site, I hear what sounds like a hundred clicks. Alex is right—this feels wrong.

I turn on my heel, walking briskly to the car but remaining silent. It isn't until I'm inside when I express my thoughts.

"That wasn't right."

"Did you pay your respects to Mr. Bloom?" Eileen asks.

I nod.

"Then it _was_ right, ma'am."

"She means it was uncomfortable," Alex responds. "The whole thing felt staged, diminishing what that moment should've felt like to the President."

Eileen shoots her a look. "I know what she meant, thank you."

"I'm sorry to have put you in this situation," Warren chimes in. "But it's over. Now we wait to see what the media has to say."

I don't mince my words. "We're not doing something like this again."

"Yes, ma'am," Eileen says with a flexed jaw.

If it were up to my Chief of Staff, Alex and I would wait another four years to take a stab at a relationship. I don't have that kind of patience.

"I'm spending the evening with Alex. I'll have my mobile phone, so text me if something comes of this little stunt." I take her hand in mine. "Otherwise, please don't interrupt us unless it's a national emergency."

"Yes, ma'am," they agree in unison.

We arrive at the White House and use the back entrance of the East Wing out of the public's eye. Alex and I make haste to my bedroom, and once we're inside, I pull her to me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper in her ear.

"We knew this whole thing wouldn't be easy," she says, rubbing my back. "And this was only the first step."

I blink back tears, and then meet her eyes. "I know."

She caresses my cheek. "We can stop anytime you feel uncomfortable."

I let out a sad, disbelieving laugh. "If we stopped when I felt uncomfortable, this would end right now."

She kisses my forehead, and then ushers me to the sitting area. "Were you able to have a moment alone with Larry?"

I nod. "Yeah, that part felt real."

"Good." She places a hand on my leg. "I could hear all the cameras; see the flashes going off against the dreary background."

"Me, too." I link our fingers together. "That was the uncomfortable part."

"I know." Alex nods. "At least we finally get to be in the same room together after two weeks apart."

That causes me to smile. "True."

She pulls me into another hug, this time, allowing me to stay in the crook of her arm and stretch out on the sofa.

I look up at her. "I've missed you."

"Same."

My phone chirps, indicating I have a text message. I grab it off the coffee table, still in Alex's arms. "Here we go."

Alex reads the message over my shoulder. "Fox News has the pics."

"Of course, they do."

"Should we turn on the television?"

I get up, doing exactly that, and then join her back on the sofa.

"_The President paid her respects to her late husband, Larry Bloom, at Woodland Cemetery this afternoon," the reporter begins. "And it looks like she brought a guest." Sarah Whalen turns to a man in the chair next to her. "Why would a lobbyist accompany the President to her husband's gravesite?" _

"_Good question," he laughs. "Insiders tell me Alex Vause is close to the President, but we don't know exactly _**how**_ close. Obviously, Ms. Vause attended Eileen O'Sullivan's birthday party a few weeks ago followed by a semi-private dinner with the President and her colleagues from the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence. We're still trying to figure out what's going on."_

And just like that, we're off to the races. CNN, CNBC and two local affiliates pick up the news story and it quickly becomes the headline by the six o'clock news. We staged this whole thing on a Saturday, which is the slowest news day of the week, hoping that by Monday, it would blow over.

I shouldn't have fooled myself that Alex and I would have a quiet night to ourselves. I have food delivered to my room and eat dinner with her, all the while our eyes are glued to the TV. Her phone rings as often as mine, but neither of us is ready to face the world. We agree to watch one more segment on Fox News where one of our allies will answer questions, and then we'll return calls.

"_We have Former Democratic House Representative, Oliver Orr, on the line with us," the Fox reporter announces. "Mr. Orr, what do you make of the President's visit to her husband's burial site today?"_

"_President Chapman has made no bones about grieving the loss of her husband," Orr begins. "It took her a while to get back in the drivers' seat, but when she made up her mind to return to governing our country, she did so with gusto." He pauses. "As far as we know, this was her first visit to her husband's grave, and I think it was difficult for her from an emotional standpoint. Ms. Vause went with her as a friend."_

"_Why is it only in the last few weeks that we're learning about the President's friendship with Ms. Vause?"_

"_Like most Presidents, she keeps her private life private," he responds plainly. "And as you're fully aware, the White House doesn't comment on the President's personal life."_

"_Oh, we're very well aware of that, Mr. Orr," she says with a laugh that reveals her contempt for what the White House chooses to report. "I would imagine if President Chapman brought someone to her husband's grave, that person would have to be in her inner circle."_

"_That sounds accurate."_

"_As you might have heard in the last half hour, Fox News discovered that Alex Vause is a lesbian. Is there something more going on here that we deserve to know?"_

"_You don't deserve to know anything about the President's private life," he answers. "And it's a known fact that President Chapman had a number of gay friends when she was at Smith College and for all we know, she's still friends with many of them. It's no secret she's a champion for LGBTQ rights."_

_Ignoring his comment, the reporter continues. "Ms. Vause contributed $1,000 to The Trevor Project a couple years ago and over $5,000 to the Human Rights Campaign."_

"Fucking cunt," Alex shakes her head as she watches the reporter attack her generosity.

"_Before she was an elected official, President Chapman donated to both organizations, too," Orr retorts. "Are you insinuating that our President is having a secret affair with Ms. Vause?"_

"_Is that not a possibility?"_

_Orr laughs. "Wow, you and your network are quite something, you know that?"_

"_With all due respect, Mr. Orr, we did not elect a homosexual President, so if she—"_

_He cuts her off. "You elected a State Senator with a track record of getting things done. President Chapman has passed a gun control bill, reduced our country's carbon footprint by 10 percent in two years, and is on her way to eradicating homelessness in America," he replies compellingly. "Along with most American citizens, I don't care who the President sleeps with as long as she continues to govern our nation the way she has for the past almost three years."_

"_We'll be right back after this commercial break."_

I mute the television and watch Alex pace next to my bed.

"What a bitch," she says.

"I'm worried about the 'sleeping with me' part," I note. "I'm sure that was _not_ in Orr's talking points."

She threads her fingers in her hair. "I guess it's official: we're in the mainstream media."

"Looks that way."

We spend the next few hours alternating between talking on the phone and watching the news. Two more allies go on the air to defend me—one on MSNBC and one on a local ABC affiliate. They both say pretty much the same thing as Oliver Orr, but they don't mention the sleeping together part.

Alex returns her Mom's call, who says a friend at work told her she was on the news.

"Mom, I'm going to call you from the President's secure line." She hangs up and dials her mother's number from my landline. "Are you there?"

"What's this all about, Al?"

Alex puts her on speaker phone.

"I'm afraid that the news stories about me are just beginning, but we've planned it that way," Alex replies. "I wanted to tell you in person over the Thanksgiving holiday, but I couldn't."

"Tell me what?" her mom asks.

Alex takes a deep breath, glances at me, and then says it. "Piper and I are in a relationship."

"Piper?" It takes a moment for her Mom to realize who her daughter is referring to. "You mean President Chapman? Are you saying that you're the President's_ girlfriend_?"

"Where are you, Mom? I need you to keep your voice down."

"I'm in the parking lot at work. No one's around."

"Are you positive?"

"There are only three cars here and I just looked in all of 'em," she says. "Now get back to my question—are you and the President a couple?"

Alex's face is a blend of anxiety, joy and wonder. "We are."

"I can't fucking believe it!"

She sits next to me, but she's perched uneasily on the edge of the couch. "Neither can I sometimes."

Alex relays the story of how we became close and that her business trip over Thanksgiving was actually spent with me at Camp David so we could figure out if this is what we wanted.

"I'm over the moon for you Al, I really am," Diane begins. "But I'm also worried. They're going to rake your name through the mud. You could lose your job."

"I'm far less worried about what happens to _me_," she confesses.

"Right…" Diane sighs. "How's the President doing?"

"I'm hanging in there," I say into the speaker. "Sorry I couldn't tell you any of this when you visited the White House. Believe me, I wanted to."

"Oh, hi, President Chapman," she greets me. "It would've been nice to know, but I understand why you couldn't tell me. I'm sure you and my daughter have thought this through."

"We have." I grab Alex's hand. "And I have a team of trusted colleagues who are helping us along the way."

"That's good…It's going to take me some time to wrap my head around this. Maybe a few weeks or even months."

"Join the club," Alex says. It's the first time I've seen her smile all night.

"Can we trust you to keep this information to yourself?" I ask.

"Oh, yes. Of course."

"People are going to come out of the woodwork to try to get you to answer their questions," I begin. "I'm going to put you in touch with someone from our Communications team. It'll likely be my director, Warren Tharler, or his deputy, Leslie Fagan. They're going to walk you through how to handle media inquiries."

"You might consider taking at least a week off work, Mom."

"Why would I do that?"

"Customers, co-workers, your boss might ask what you know about my relationship."

"I never thought about that."

"Alex is right," I add. "Stay off the grid for the next week, and definitely don't answer questions from anyone until my staff talks to you."

"Alright."

"We have to go, Mom, but I'll be in touch soon."

"Ok, kid. Thank you for calling and good luck."

We hang up, and I pull Alex into my arms. I know she hates putting her Mom in an awkward position, but we suspected this all along. It's going to be a brutal few weeks if not months ahead.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Thank you again for the great reviews! When I receive negative reviews that are well-written, I don't mind at all; in fact, I appreciate that readers took the time to write anything at all. I _do_ wonder why anyone who thinks I'm a bad writer is still reading this story at chapter 10 or monitoring my reviews, but that's neither here nor there. I'm perfectly fine with 20-30 people of any age from any country who enjoy my stories. I write fanfiction as a hobby with no aspirations to write anything grander than a fictitious tale about Alex & Piper, and I'm not egotistical or foolish enough to think that my work compares to some of The Great Authors in this fandom. Thanks to those who understand and respect that.

* * *

I wake up the following morning with Alex in bed next to me, which brings a huge smile to my face. She's still sleeping, and I don't want to wake her. We went through the gamut of emotions yesterday, but as I lie here staring at her, I know she's the person I want to be with—the person I'd risk my career to be with. A feeling of joy washes over me as Alex stirs, and it's in that moment when I realize I'm falling in love with her. I have to laugh at myself—_of course_ I've been falling in love with her—I wouldn't have made a big deal about our relationship if I didn't think Alex and I could be in this for the long haul.

"You're awake," she mumbles in a sleepy voice I've come to love.

"I am." I bend my elbow and prop my head on my hand. "And I just realized something."

She stretches, revealing the tops of her breasts. "What's that?"

I blink at her, feeling a smile begin to take over my face. "I'm falling in love with you."

She stops mid-motion, arms still in the air. "What?"

"I'm falling in love with you," I repeat, now a little more bashfully.

The most endearing smile surfaces. "You are?"

I nod, removing a long strand of black from her cheek and letting my thumb linger there, caressing her soft skin.

"Well, that's a relief." She rolls onto her side, facing me. "Because I'm falling in love with you, too."

I plant my lips on hers, but we're both smiling so widely that all we're able to kiss is teeth.

"The reason it took so long to say it is because I've never felt like this before. As much as I hate to admit it, this isn't something I experienced with Larry." I rest my forehead against hers. "It feels good to finally realize what's been happening."

She's still smiling. "I admit I had that feeling back at Camp David, but I thought it was too soon."

I furrow my brow. "Too soon?"

"Yeah, I mean, we hadn't even kissed, and I knew something _more_ was happening—I was developing feelings for you beyond just an everyday crush."

"I felt like it then, too, but it wasn't until just now when I could name it."

"I don't just _think_ I'm falling in love with you, Piper." This time, she kisses me deeply. She pulls back and says, "I _know_ it."

My smile is so wide it feels like it could break my face.

Her hand slithers down the side of my naked body while mine reaches for her breast. We make slow and easy love that morning, basking in the aftermath of _I love you's_. Although I could go another round, the shrill sound of my phone reminds me we both have places to be.

"I'm sure this is Eileen, telling me how we're going to whisk you out of here undetected." I kiss her one more time before stepping out of bed. "Good morning, Eileen."

"Good morning, ma'am," she responds. "Are we going to see you at work this morning, or are you going to take the day off?"

I detect the slightest bit of lightness in her tone, but even without that gift of levity, I laugh at her comment. Eileen knows Alex spent the night, which means she knows the reason for my delay this morning.

"Is that an option?" I joke.

She lets out a loud _ha_!

"I'll see you in my office in 20 minutes."

* * *

The White House event staff goes even Christmas crazier than last year. There's at least one decorated tree in every room including hallways, lights hung around door frames and more poinsettias than I can count. There are a series of adult and children's choirs performing in the lobby every day, beginning with the twelfth day before Christmas. The really good choirs, or so it seems, are asked to perform in the West Wing where I'm invited to listen to a song or two.

The media buzz has died down after our visit to the cemetery, but there are still a few news programs that bring it up when it's a slow news day. Warren and Jane have a plan for Alex and me to be seen again, this time Christmas shopping. Last year, I went to two retail stores to buy gifts, and it was well-received by the media. (It was a headache for the Secret Service, but that's neither here nor there.) My Communications team thinks we can pull it off again, but this time, with Alex in tow.

So, on a snowy Saturday afternoon, we ride together to The Chocolate House in DuPont Circle.

"We're allowing five photographers to enter the stores with you," Warren says. "But just like last time, they aren't allowed to ask questions."

I nod.

"You should shop as you normally would for Christmas gifts, being mindful of your proximity."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks.

"You can show each other items you find in the stores, but don't touch," he states.

Feeling a little bolder than usual, I place my hand on Alex's inner thigh. "So, this would be out of the question?"

Eileen holds her head in her hands. "Now you're just _trying_ to kill me."

Alex chuckles along with me—we're not that stupid.

"Looks like we're here," Warren says. "If something goes awry, just head back to the car, and we'll skip the second outing."

"Ok," I say, getting out before Alex. "Let's do this."

Alex and I enter the store at the same time, followed by a Secret Service agent and then my staff members. There is already a Secret Service agent in the store, and of course, there are no other customers.

"You must be Barry Altman," I greet the owner and his wife with a handshake. "Thank you for closing the store for us. I promise we'll spend some money and won't keep the doors closed to the public for too long."

"It's an honor to meet you, ma'am." Both of them shake my hand. "We're huge supporters."

"Thank you." I smile back. "Mind if we taste a few chocolates?"

"By all means. Please let us know what looks good."

"It all looks good," Alex replies. "Can I sample the jalapeno chocolate and maybe the dark chocolate truffle."

"I'll try the lavender caramel," I say.

The cameras click a few times as each of us accepts a sample. They go off the handle when I offer a piece of lavender caramel to Alex. I stop short of placing it in her mouth, much to the apparent relief of Eileen, and simply hand it to her. Our fingers touch, but it's only incidental.

Alex looks sexy as fuck in designer jeans and knee-high leather boots. She has on a camel colored cashmere wrap and a wide-brimmed dark gray tweed hat. If I'm able to spend time with her alone this evening, she will keep this very outfit on while I slowly get rid of each item before ravaging her.

We make it out of The Chocolate Store unscathed other than my spending $250 on chocolate gifts. Mrs. Willoughby will be pleased with a gift of assorted truffles.

When we're back in the car, Eileen is the first to speak. "That was good."

Warren and Jane nod.

I turn to Alex. "Easy enough, huh?"

"I guess." She shrugs. "And the chocolate was delicious."

Not far down the road is Little Leaf, a home and garden store with a unique gift selection. I've bought several gifts from Little Leaf in the past and have met the female owner a couple times.

We proceed just like before, and I greet the owner by name. Alex and I browse around the store, and I hold up a pine scented candle for her to smell. The cameras capture the moment as expected.

"I've always wanted a fig tree," she announces, checking out a potted three-foot fig tree near the window. "The leaves are so much more interesting than a ficus or dracaena. Not that I've had any luck keeping houseplants alive."

I walk over to her, touching one of the leaves. "I'll buy it for you."

"I can buy it myself but thank you for the offer." She grins. "You don't think it's too big to fit in the car?"

I shrug. "We'll figure something out."

I end up buying a series of air plants and containers, two scented candles, a colorfully decorated pot, and a brass plant mister. The photographers don't seem that interested in this little outing, which is perfectly fine with me. There is a moment, however, that they apparently find intriguing, which is when Alex and I try to get her fig tree into the sedan.

"Turn it to a 60 degree angle," I suggest.

She holds the base. "Let me get my protractor out and do exactly that."

I let out a boisterous laugh as I try to maneuver this living thing into the car.

The cameras go crazy over this little adventure, though I don't pretend to understand why. Eventually, we decide to put the plant in the front seat and strap it in like a passenger.

By the time we're on the road, the news stories are already hitting the airwaves with pictures of us in the chocolate shop.

"What the public thinks is _news_ will never cease to amaze me," I comment.

"Why do you think magazines like _People_ and _US Weekly_ are million-dollar entities?" Alex asks.

The first time we staged a photo op at the graveyard, we weren't papped, but our picture appeared in all the celebrity gossip magazines.

Just like last time we played this game, I want Alex stay the night.

"Here's the problem," Eileen states. "There are going to be photographers parked outside Alex's apartment. If she doesn't come home, they'll assume she stayed with you, ma'am. Perception is everything, and in this case, it would be reality."

Before I have a chance to bite back, Alex speaks. "She's right. As much as I hate it, I can't stay with you tonight."

"What if I stayed with _you_?"

Eileen looks like she's going to either vomit or punch us. "You know that's not possible, right?"

"I don't think it would be wise for us to walk into Alex's place hand in hand, but we can do a staggered arrival or something," I try.

"Unless you're willing to be in costume, Madam President, that won't work," Warren chimes in.

"I'm not above being in costume," I reply. A thought occurs to me of both of us in costume for an entirely different reason.

"Not tonight, babe," Alex whispers. "It's not worth it."

My heart swells when she calls me _babe_.

"Listen to Ms. Vause," Eileen says. "Sometimes I wonder if she's smarter than you are."

"I _did_ score higher on the LSAT," Alex chides.

I thread my fingers through hers and glance at the other occupants in the car. "Figure out a way for us to spend the night together by the end of next week. I'm serious."

"Yes, ma'am," Eileen responds.

"We should discuss your plans for Christmas, Madam President," Jane says. "The press has started to ask."

"Let me talk to Alex, and we'll follow up in the next day or two."

"Very good, ma'am," Jane says.

The car stops in front of Alex's apartment, and just as expected, there are at least six or seven paparazzi ready to capture any incriminating photographs.

"Here's how this is going to play out," Eileen begins. "Alex is going to exit the car, and Agent Spencer will help her carry her shopping bags and the plant to the door."

"Not my favorite, but I guess it's fine for now." I lean over and kiss her softly. "Good night, Alex. Thank you."

She runs a hand down the back of my head. "Good night, babe. Talk to you later."

We lock lips one more time, and I realize it's the first time my staff has seen us kiss. Alex gets out and everything goes as planned. I wave goodbye to her, but because of the tinted windows, she can't see.

I touch my mouth. "Not that it ultimately matters, but are you ok with what just happened?"

"That you two kissed?" Eileen asks.

I nod.

"As long as it happens in private, I'm happy as a clam," she responds.

Jane smiles. "You make a nice couple."

"I didn't see anything," Warren says, gazing out the window.

Ignoring Warren's statement, I grin at my press secretary. "Thank you, Jane. So do I."

* * *

As expected, the major news outlets pick up my Christmas shopping spree with Alex. It doesn't headline any of the programs, but it's the third or fourth segment aired. The pundits don't say anything unanticipated, including those on our side; however, it's Chuck Todd, the Political Director of NBC News, who has the most poignant observations.

I have the television on in the Oval Office just before dinner, and I hear the lead-in to a video of the shopping trip with Alex. This is the first time I've seen a video rather than a still photograph of the two of us. It's a 30-second clip of us trying to fit the plant in the car. We're mostly laughing, though they pick up my line about turning the fig tree to a 60-degree angle and Alex commenting that she needs to pull out a protractor. It's _cute_; endearing, and I rarely describe anything I do as _cute_.

"_What do you make of President Chapman's relationship with Alex Vause?" Lester Holt asks Chuck Todd._

"_These are two women who seem to enjoy each other's company, Lester," he begins. "They're laughing and talking about something as ordinary as how to get a large plant into a car. It's a common, everyday experience. That's one of the things American citizens like about President Chapman—she's relatable."_

I turn the volume louder.

"_I'm not sure why this is even a story to be honest," Chuck Todd continues. "The President has been steadily making good on her campaign promises. She governs in a bi-partisan way and she has a budding friendship with another woman." He shrugs. "Who cares what it is beyond that? Wouldn't we all be so lucky to have a friendship like what it appears President Chapman has with Ms. Vause?"_

"_You're saying this isn't necessarily a political story?" Lester asks._

"_It doesn't appear to be politically motivated," he responds. "Ms. Vause was instrumental in securing votes for the gun control bill, so there _are_ politics involved, but I can't see a way that Vause could've taken advantage of her relationship with the President to get those votes—she got them on her own. Even Representative Rappaport admitted as much."_

"_So, this is just a friendship that sort of happened along the way?"_

"_It appears that way, yes," Todd reports. "And even if something more comes of it, that doesn't take away what the President has already done for America or what she can and will most likely do in her next two years of her first term."_

"_Chuck, thank you very much." Lester turns to other news._

I smile at the television. _Thank you indeed_, Chuck Todd.

Warren barrels into my office five minutes later slightly out of breath. "Did you see NBC Nightly News, ma'am?"

I grin. "I did."

"That was better than we could've hoped."

"I'm glad." I don't want to gloat or make a big deal of it, but deep down inside, my heart is doing cartwheels. "If you'll excuse me, I have dinner with Davis and Kang from the ATF."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Although I haven't been sleeping very well since Alex and I returned from Camp David, the more confident I feel about the way we're ushering out our relationship to the public, the more restful I am at night. In fact, the morning after the NBC Nightly News segment, I sleep until almost 6 a.m., skipping my morning yoga. I enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee in bed and read a few sections of _The Washington Post_ and _The Wall Street Journal_ before getting dressed and beginning my day.

Warren greets me the second I step foot in the West Wing. "You're going to want to see this."

I grab my daily schedule from Mrs. Willoughby, and then head into my office. "In a good way or a bad way?"

"An _interesting_ way," he replies.

"That's better than bad, I guess." I glance at my schedule, noticing we have 15 minutes before the others join us for my daily briefing.

He turns on the TV and replays a news segment on CNN that aired 30 minutes ago. There's a split screen with Deborah Lipton, Chair of the Democratic National Committee on the left, and Ian Mayfield IV, the front-runner for the Republican presidential nomination on the right side of the screen.

"Did we know Lipton would be on today?" I ask.

"Yes, ma'am." He nods. "Jane and Eileen should be here any minute; they've already seen it."

The first five minutes of the program goes much like the others before it—Mayfield is all but calling me out as a lesbian, and Lipton is defending me, not as a straight woman but as an effective leader of our country. It doesn't get interesting until a little later.

"_America still believes in family values, Mrs. Lipton, and many of us look to the Bible for the way Jesus would want us to admonish homosexuality," Mayfield states. _

_Lipton leans forward. "Who wrote the Bible, Mr. Mayfield?"_

_He appears caught off guard. "Moses wrote the first five books," he begins. "And most of us Christians believe Jesus himself is the author of or at least the inspiration for the entirety of the Bible, which was transcribed by a series of humble vessels."_

"_Along with every theologian on the planet, I can tell you with utter certainty, Mr. Mayfield, that Jesus did not write the Bible."_

"_Well, he did as part of the Holy Trinity," he rebuts._

_Lipton contains a smirk. "The best that can be said for your notion is that if Jesus, as part of the Trinity as you mentioned, really did 'write' the Bible through a millennium-long sequence of authors, he was certainly doing it the hard way." She pauses. "And if you study the Bible like you say you do, you'd know that not once does Jesus admonish anyone for homosexuality. In fact, he doesn't even bring it up. I want to make that very clear."_

"_If you look to the gospels of Mark and Matthew, you'd know that Jesus talks about a woman becoming a man's wife—not two men or two women," he argues._

"_Are you now saying we should abolish the federal law that allows same-sex marriage? That's not the tune you sang at the last debate."_

"_Well, I, uh…I don't support same-sex marriage, but I know I'm not powerful enough to overturn that law."_

"_You certainly aren't." It seems like Lipton is just getting started. "Now that we've established that Jesus didn't condemn homosexuality and that the federal law states that two people of the same sex can be legally married, what would you have against President Chapman if she _were_ gay?"_

_Mayfield wags his finger. "Now we're back to family values."_

"_There were two things that hampered the President most when she ran for the highest office in the land," Lipton begins. "The first was that she's a woman, and the second was that she didn't have 'wholesome family values' as defined by Republicans. In fact, the President outwardly admitted that she has an estranged relationship with her parents, and she wasn't cut out to have children. In other words, President Chapman was elected despite her non-traditional family values."_

"_She certainly was," he laughs as if Lipton just perjured herself._

"_I don't think you understand what you just admitted, Mr. Mayfield—that a woman without a commitment to her birth family or the desire to create a family of her own—was elected President. That was three years ago. The country has gotten more progressive in the last few years, especially with more Millennials being old enough to vote." Lipton waits for a response, but none is forthcoming. "Overall, the President has an 82 percent approval rating and an unprecedented 94 percent approval rating within her own party," she pauses as if to let that sink in. "It doesn't matter who President Chapman is in a relationship with—mark my words: she will serve another four years as President of the United States."_

"_Not if I have something to say about it," Mayfield responds with a chuckle._

I turn to Eileen and Jane, who have since entered the Oval. "Did Deborah Lipton just tell Mayfield that even if I'm gay, I'm electable?"

"Seems so," Warren answers.

I take it a step further. "She skipped right over the _Alex is just a friend_ thing and proceeded as if we were a couple?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you don't think this is _good_ news?"

Warren scratches his head. "It's interesting, ma'am…bordering on good."

Jane fast-forwards the commercials. "Keep watching."

_A graph appears on the screen. "CNN conducted a poll, asking if voters would re-elect President Chapman if she were in a same-sex relationship. You'll see that 52 percent of Americans said they would vote for her again. Does that surprise either of you?"_

"_Not at all," Lipton states with a grin._

"_Of course they said they'd re-elect her," Mayfield rebuttals. "This is liberal CNN after all—I'm sure the numbers would look very different if Fox News conducted a similar poll."_

"_Just to clarify, Mr. Mayfield, this was a random survey that did not capture a voter's political affiliation," she says. "Let's take a look at one of our interns who we asked to interview folks on the streets without any identifying factors that he works for our network."_

_A young man in khaki pants and an Oxford shirt with an unmarked microphone approaches several people on the streets near Atlanta's Centennial Olympic Park. "Hi, I don't mean to disturb you, but can I ask you a question?"_

_A man and woman stop with their two children. "Would you re-elect President Chapman if she were in a same-sex relationship?"_

"_I don't know what her relationship has to do with governing the country," the man replies in a thick Southern accent. "She's doing a pretty good job."_

"_Would you mind sharing what political party you identify with?"_

"_We're Republicans," the wife says while her husband nods._

_The intern interviews three more people, all the while a clock is ticking at the bottom of the screen to prove he isn't editing out unfavorable responses. They all provide equal support for me. It isn't until the last man he interviews when there's a less compelling but still positive opinion._

"_I don't believe two men should be together," a black man responds, "But I don't mind it as much when two women are together."_

"_So, if President Chapman was in a relationship with a woman, you'd still vote for her?"_

"_Yeah, probably. Is this about that fine woman with the long black hair?"_

"_It's not about one woman in particular," the intern says. "But this topic has come into the public eye because of Alex Vause, yes."_

_The man giggles. "She looks good, you know what I'm saying?"_

"_Thank you, sir."_

The broadcast ends, and Jane lowers the volume.

I turn to my staff in the room. "I hate it when men sexualize lesbians like we're living out their sick fantasy."

"Nevertheless, that's four random people who would vote for you," Warren states.

"We're all a bit surprised by the support," Jane comments. "Of course, that's CNN reporting. We're recording Fox News to see what they have to say."

"Are any of you as surprised by this as I am?" I ask.

"I am." Eileen lifts her hand. "We need to get Stephanie Horowitz in the room."

Stephanie served as my campaign manager the first time around. She and I have met three times since I announced I'm running for re-election, and it appears it's time to meet again as the media is catching on to what Alex really means to me.

"By all means, let's get her in the room," I offer.

* * *

That night, I talk to Alex on the phone, asking her if she saw the insightful CNN clip. She tells me she's been taping both CNN and Fox News all day and has, in fact, seen the interview with Lipton and Mayfield. I also informed her two days ago that my team believes it's time for her to talk to the people she works with about our relationship—not that we're a couple, but that we have become good friends.

"What are the people at the CSGV saying?"

"I had a talk with Edwin last night, telling him you and I are just friends," she says. "I don't like lying, but that's where we are right now."

I nod.

"He called everyone in this morning," she says. "Telling them they have every right to talk to the media or to stay silent."

"How'd they react?"

"I'm fortunate to work with 15 bleeding heart liberals. They said whatever I need, they'll support me."

"That's good," I comment.

"One of my closest work friends, Cooper, asked if I wanted to take things further with you."

"What'd you say?"

"I told him the truth: you're a brilliant, gorgeous, head-strong woman who happens to run the free world. If you were interested in more than friendship with me, I'd be flattered."

I chuckle. "Is he someone who would talk to the media?"

"Fuck, no," she replies. "He doesn't trust them. Neither do I, quite frankly."

"That makes three of us."

I crawl into bed and pull the covers higher on my chest. "I've been meaning to talk to you about Christmas."

I can hear her settling into bed. "What about it?"

"Are you staying local? Traveling?"

"I'm going home," she answers. "I spent last Christmas away from my mom and promised her that wouldn't be the case this year."

"Oh." I try to contain a sigh.

"What?"

"Nothing…it sounds nice," I reply.

"What are you doing for the holiday?"

"I'm not sure yet. Last year, I was with Larry and his parents at their place in Florida." I turn off the lamp. "It's not like I'm going to do that again this year."

"Come with me," Alex offers.

"You must be nuts," I chuckle.

"Come with me. Seriously." I hear the sheets rustle and wonder if she's sitting up. "I'm sure your team can figure out a way to make it happen."

"While I'd love nothing more than to spend Christmas with you, there's no way I could hide flying Air Force One to California," I say.

She ignores the whole Air Force One thing. "We could rent a house or something. Somewhere rural."

"Alex…"

"Tell you what, I'm going to research some options and get back with you tomorrow," she states.

"Ok, but don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out."

"I'll find a way." I hear her smiling. "Until then, good night, Madam President."

"Good night."

* * *

I can't stop thinking about the possibility of spending Christmas with Alex and it's interfering with the attention I should be paying to the House Majority Leader this morning. After my meeting with him, I'm pulled this way and that, trying my best to concentrate on running the country. Fortunately, none of the agenda items thus far have required me to make decisions—it's more of a day of listening than a day of action.

"Madam President?" Chris catches up with me on the way to my office. "Ms. Vause is on the line."

"I'll take it in here." I sit behind my desk and lift the receiver. "Alex?"

"Hey," she says through what I'm sure is a smile. "Is this a bad time?"

I push my Briefing Book aside. "It's a perfect time, actually."

"I'm calling with some good news," she announces.

"I'm always in the mood for good news."

"I found a place for us to spend Christmas."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah," she begins. "Yosemite would be too crowded, but there's a small town at the western part of Sequoia National Park called Three Rivers. There's a set of cabins on the outskirts of the park that happen to be available over Christmas. I'm going to forward the link to you now."

"Send it to my Gmail account."

"Which is?" she laughs lightly.

"Piper_E_Chapman ."

"Unique," she chides.

"I've had it since high school. I'm pretty sure it's been scrubbed by the people who intend to keep me alive as they monitor my accounts for death threats, but I still have access to it."

"I just sent it."

I open my laptop and login. "You know this is a longshot, right?"

"What is?"

"That I'll be able to go away with you." I wait for my e-mail to open.

"You're the fucking President of the United States," she chuckles. "You can do anything you want."

"You know what I mean, Alex." I open the website and glance at the five or six photos of the cabins. "Looks nice...rustic."

"Not as nice as Camp David, but it'll do."

I sit back in my chair with a thump. I know this will not go over well with Eileen and Warren. "Let me see what I can manage."

"I'll be waiting."

I hang up the phone and dread the conversation I'm about to have with my staff. "Mrs. Willoughby? Will you get Eileen, Warren and Jane in here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I finish signing 20 more Christmas cards while I wait for them to come to my office, all the while thinking of the best way to tell them I'm thinking about escaping with Alex again. They work for me. They'll have to find a way to make this happen.

Someone knocks on the door. "You wanted to see us?"

"Please, come in." I get to my feet. "I want to touch base with you about my plans for Christmas."

"Glad to hear it, ma'am," Jane replies. "The press has been asking all week, and it's getting difficult to hold them back."

"I'll be staying at a cabin in Sequoia National Park," I blurt out quickly like removing a Band-Aid.

I expect Eileen to be the first to offer a rebuttal, but she sits there, nodding her head as if she expected this.

Warren pipes up. "Uh, alone?"

Eileen gives him a look, and then turns to me. "Do we really need to go over this again, Madam President?"

"No." I don't need to make this complicated. "I'll need you to come up with a plan to make this happen."

"With all due respect, ma'am, there's no way we'll be able to hide this one," Eileen finally says. "Camp David is one thing but flying across the country in the taxpayer's airplane to spend a few nights with your lover isn't going to go over well."

"Why does anyone have to know who I'll be with?" I ask, sitting in the armchair. "Jane can tell them I'm spending time in the great state of California. I could even tack on a couple days with the governor to discuss border control."

"By now the media knows that Ms. Vause is from Northern California. They know where she went to school, the site of her first job, and not only her mother's name, but also her workplace."

"California has nearly 40 million residents," I respond. "Wouldn't it be entirely possible I was there without any intention of seeing one of them?"

"If you want to have Ms. Vause spend some time with you here over the Christmas break, ma'am, we might be able to swing it, but a trip to California is out of the question," Eileen says with what for the first time feels like empathy.

"Warren?" I ask as a last-ditch effort.

"I'm afraid she's right," he replies. "This one is just too risky, ma'am."

Jane nods, and I know I've lost this battle.

"That'll be all." I walk back to my desk with my head lowered. I don't want them to see how sad this makes me.

"Where can I tell the press you'll spend Christmas, President Chapman?" Jane asks.

Even before the thought of spending Christmas with Alex popped into my head, I've wanted to avoid Jane's question, because truth is, I don't really have a home.

After Larry and I got married, we bought a beautiful two-bedroom townhouse in Stamford. While he stayed in Connecticut, I leased an apartment in DC until announcing my candidacy for President, at which time we rented a home in a gated community in the Spring Valley neighborhood of DC. We sold the townhouse not long after I was elected. In other words, I have no home to go to other than my family's place, and that's not an option.

I toss a pen onto my desk. "I'm going to stay here, Jane."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Jane and Warren file out, but Eileen lingers. "I really am sorry, Madam President."

"So am I," I say with a heavy heart. "Give me a minute to call Alex. I'll meet you in the Roosevelt Room in ten."

"Yes, ma'am."

I sit with a thud in my desk chair, not looking forward to informing Alex of the bad news. I have Mrs. Willoughby get her on the line, and then take a deep breath.

"Did your team come up with a super-secret plan to get you to California?" she asks.

I sigh. "It's not going to happen. I'm sorry."

"Really?"

"Really." I cradle my forehead in my free hand. "It's too risky for me as well as for you and your mom."

"I shouldn't be all that surprised." She sounds deflated. "I guess I just wanted it to happen so badly, you know?"

I nod. "They said they could potentially find a way to allow you to spend part of the Christmas holiday here, but that's about it."

"I can't, Piper. I'm sorry." I can _feel_ the sorrow in her voice. "I promised my mom."

"I wouldn't ask you to change your plans," I reply.

"Maybe this will be the last Christmas we spend apart." There's a bit of optimism in her tone.

"I hope so." I manage a weak smile. "When do you leave?"

"The 22nd," she says. "I'll come back the day after Christmas."

"That's in two days," I announce.

"I know." I picture her lowering her head. "Will we be able to see each other before then?"

"Can you clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon?"

"I think so."

"I'll get a meeting with you and Blake on the books for late afternoon. I'm sure the two of you can find something to discuss with the Rappaport thing," I say. "After your meeting, I'll ask Chris to escort you to my office."

"Ok."

"I'm really sorry, Al."

"I know. I'll see you tomorrow."

I'm having a bad day. Not even the American Boy Choir can shake me out of my foul mood with their glorious rendition of _Silver Bells_. The only good bit of news is that I'm able to get Alex to the West Wing by arranging a meeting with her and Blake. Turns out, Blake was hoping to meet with her prior to Christmas anyway, so at least _that_ worked out.

I know how fortunate I am to have things go my way since this whole thing with Alex began. We've been careful and we've followed a well laid out plan. My approval rating has only dropped five points in the weeks since the media started speculating about a possible romance between me and Alex, and all signs point to it hovering just below 80 percent for the foreseeable future. Even the projected numbers by our own White House poll as well as the CNN poll shows that it's still possible for me to be re-elected even if I'm in a same-sex relationship. The numbers aren't where I'd like them to be, but I hope that when I start caucusing, they'll creep up. We're still waiting for Fox News to come out with a poll of their own, but Warren suspects they're holding off because they're afraid of the ratings working in my favor.

* * *

I impatiently wait for Blake and Alex to wrap up their meeting, but from what Chris tells me, they got a ten minute late start. It's only supposed to be a half-hour chat, so I hope they're done soon. I don't do well with nervous energy.

Mrs. Willoughby enters my office. "Ma'am, would you like me to wrap those Christmas gifts for the staff?"

"If you don't mind, that would be a big help."

"I don't mind at all," she says. "In fact, I'm known for making beautiful bows."

That puts a smile on my face. "Thank you."

Fifteen minutes later, Chris enters my office with Alex at her side. "You wanted to see Ms. Vause when her meeting was over?"

"Yes." I walk around my desk. "Thank you, Chris."

"You're welcome, Madam President."

I close the door. "Hi."

"Hey." Alex embraces me, kissing me on the temple. "Busy day?"

"Not that bad." I take her hand and lead her to the sofa. "You?"

She shrugs. "Making some headway on gun legislation in Alabama, which is a sentence I thought would never escape my mouth."

"That's good." I exhale as I turn to matters closer to home. "I hate that we can't be together this Christmas." I rub the back of her hand. "This is all so stupid."

"It is," she agrees. "But it's the game we're in. Consider it halftime."

I smile. "Since when do you use sports metaphors?"

"Now that I think of it, _never_," she chuckles. "This whole thing is turning me into a different version of myself."

"I'm ready for all of it to be over so we can be together," I sigh.

"I know." She brushes her knuckles across my cheek. "Could anyone just walk in right now?"

"Mrs. Willoughby would be the only one to poke her head in. Why?"

"Because we're in a compromising position," she states as if I asked a rhetorical question.

"This is not a compromising position." I get to my feet, and then straddle her, thankful I chose today to wear slacks. "But this is."

"Piper, uh—"

I swallow Alex's protests in a long, wet kiss. "I don't care if anyone walks in."

"Yeah, you do." She pushes me away. "Trust me, there's nothing I'd rather than to be _out_ with you, but the Oval Office is not the place to do this."

I stick my hands on my hips. "You're rejecting me?"

"Only for now," she says, standing and straightening her blouse. "If you want to sneak away to the East Wing, by all means, lead the way, but I'm not going to put you in danger of someone finding us making out in your office."

I know she's right, but I _fucking hate it_. "I hate this. I hate sneaking around like you're my mistress."

"I'm not your mistress," she lets out a light laugh, but there's some force behind her words.

"Of course you're not." I reach for her hand. "But that's what this whole thing feels like."

"Piper, look at me." She grabs my other hand. "We're in this for the long haul—at least that's what I want—so if it means being secretive about our relationship even for another year, I'm ok with that."

I shake my head. "There's no way I can wait a whole year to be with you without it being a secret."

"It's either that or we reveal that we're in a relationship to the public, risking your presidency." She raises her shoulders. "I won't do that."

I exhale a breath of cruel reality.

Alex places a lingering kiss on my forehead. "It's not what we want, but it is what it is."

"Why do you have to be so rational?" I shove her lightly.

"Because I can't afford to live in fantasyland." She squeezes my hand. "Neither can you."

I rest my forehead against her chest and sigh.

"I have an early flight tomorrow," she says backing away. "So this is goodbye for a few days."

"Tell your mom Merry Christmas for me." I know my voice sounds despondent.

"Merry Christmas to _you_, babe."

We kiss once more, this one more intimate and tender than the others. I walk Alex to the door, she winks at me, and then disappears down the hallway.


	11. Chapter 11

As Christmases go, this one sucks. In fact, it might be the worst Christmas ever. I gave my staff the green light to go home at five o'clock on Christmas Eve, and I'm pretty much stranded in my residence with no one around. I've always loved Christmas—the decorations, the carols, the ornaments, the snow—but this year, I want to punch Jolly 'ole Santa right in the gut.

Chef prepares a delicious meal for me of prime rib, mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus served with a 2015 Stag's Leap Cabernet Sauvignon. I enjoy every morsel while reading the book I began at Camp David over Thanksgiving, but it's no replacement for being with the woman I love. I even bought her a gift that I'd hoped I could give her on Christmas morning. I wrapped it myself, and although it isn't as pretty as Mrs. Willoughby's wrapping, it's pretty darn impressive.

I roll the now empty food cart into the hallway. "Agent Spencer, shouldn't you be enjoying Christmas Eve with your family and friends?"

"I serve at the pleasure of the President, ma'am."

I touch her arm. "And I'm thankful for that—for you."

She nods once. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

I wake up on Christmas morning with a half-empty glass of wine on my bedside table and a twinge of a headache. I drank the entire bottle to myself, which is pretty much a presidential no-no. Thank God there wasn't a crisis I needed to handle while I was tipsy if not drunk last night. I glance at the clock on the other side of the bed—9:12 a.m. It's the latest I've slept since Thanksgiving morning.

That, of course, brings me to thoughts of Alex. I wonder what she and her mom are doing. It's only six in the morning in California, so it's certainly too early for me to call. Instead, I ring down for a carafe of coffee and something greasy to eat for breakfast.

I take a shower, feeling better with every bead of hot water, and when I get out, I glance out the window in the bathroom: it's snowing. The twinkle lights are wrapped around the trees and it looks like a winter wonderland. I walk into my bedroom and smile at the exquisitely decorated Christmas tree in the sitting area. Although the tree has been up for weeks, this is the first time I've really appreciated it. I walk over and touch one of the porcelain ornaments. There's nothing special about this tree other than its innate beauty—I didn't pick the garland or the sparkling lights; the ornaments aren't sentimental; and I don't even know where it's from. Western Maryland? Pennsylvania? Virginia? Is it even real? I break off a piece of pine needle and smell it. Yeah, it's real.

I saunter barefooted over to the speaker on top of my armoire and play some holiday music to try to lift my spirits. The only thing missing is Alex.

I hear two taps on the door. "Ma'am, I have your coffee."

"Come in, Louie." I close my robe tightly against my body and allow him to wheel the cart into my room. "Thank you."

"Breakfast will be up soon unless you'd like to dine in the parlor."

"No, I'll eat in my room."

Louie steps aside, and I cannot believe my eyes. "Oh, and someone is here to see you."

"_Alex_?"

She stands in the threshold with a gift in her hands and a smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, ma'am."

I tug her by her coat lapels until she's inside, and then slam the door shut with my foot. There's no question what I'm going to do next. I smash my face against hers, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

I pull back. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She smirks. "Have I told you how much of a turn on it is when you use the word _fuck_?"

"Seriously?" I prod, ignoring her statement and brushing a few snowflakes off her wool coat.

"I took the red eye." She walks into my bedroom, holding my hand and dragging me along. "Landed 45 minutes ago."

"What about your mom? California?"

"I spent three awesome nights with her," she says, drawing me in for another kiss. "She knew I wanted to be with you."

I return the kiss with fervor. "Still…"

"She's the one who suggested that I come back early."

"Did anyone see you?" I hate that my practical side is making an appearance.

She lifts her brows. "Do you honestly think I'd do this without talking to Eileen?"

"You talked to _Eileen_?" Now I'm dumbstruck.

"I'm not stupid," she chuckles. "I know the way to _you_ is through _her_."

I tug her to the sofa and snuggle against her side. "And she went along with this plan?"

"You told me she'd find a way to make this work if I stayed in town for Christmas," Alex begins. "So I played that angle."

"You have some balls," I laugh. "_Eileen_?"

"Yeah," she replies through a grin. "I guess she talked to Warren and they made sure we weren't followed. Besides, there were enough paparazzi in California."

"Really?"

She nods. "When they realized you weren't going to show up, they vanished."

"I guess it was a good thing I didn't meet you there."

She shrugs out of her coat, tossing it on a chair. "Definitely."

I shake my head, bringing her into a hug. "I can't believe you're here."

"Believe it, babe." She kisses me soundly. "That reminds me…this is for you." She hands me a gift.

"You didn't have to get me anything." I take it anyway.

"Did you get something for me?"

I nod.

"Good. We're even," she says. "Open it."

I rip the green paper to discover a gorgeous picture frame without a photograph in it.

"It's a hand-carved Swarovski crystal frame," she announces. "It's obviously missing a picture."

"Alex, it's beautiful." I flip it over.

"I know you can't have a picture of us in your bedroom or the Oval Office for that matter, but in time, I'm going to put a photo of us in it. I already know the one."

I wrap my arms around her. "I love it."

"I'm glad."

I wrinkle my forehead. "Wait, you know what picture you're going to put in this frame?"

She nods. "It's one I took of us on the trail at Camp David when we went for a walk Thanksgiving morning."

"I don't remember you taking a picture of us."

"You were holding this huge, yellow Maple leaf and looking at me over your shoulder," she begins. "My left arm was around your waist, but I took the picture with my other hand. You were so caught in the moment, I guess you didn't notice."

"You took a picture?"

She laughs. "Yeah."

"Do you have it on your phone?"

"Do you really think I'd keep incriminating evidence like that on my phone?"

"Well, I can't wait to see it." I kiss her soundly. "_Thank you_."

She beams at me. "Merry Christmas."

"Your turn." I get up and reach deep into my dresser drawer, pulling out a small wrapped box.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say you wrapped this."

"Hey," I slap her arm. "I think I did an excellent job."

"You did," she teases as she rips the silver paper. She opens the blue Tiffany box, revealing simple round stud earrings lined in silver with jade in the center.

"I saw these and immediately thought of your eyes."

She holds them up. "Wow."

"I've noticed you mostly wear dangly earrings, but I went out on a limb."

She smiles, drawing me in for a satisfying kiss. "I love them."

"Merry Christmas, Alex."

"Merry Christmas, babe."

We spend the next several hours eating breakfast, listening to Christmas music, and talking about the holidays. Alex fills me in on her time with her mom, and I tell her about my time alone. We're both happy to be together for what will hopefully be our first of many Christmases together.

* * *

The holidays come and go in a flash, and before I know it, I'm in the thick of re-election preparation. All signs point to the Republican nominee being that conservative blowhard, Ian Mayfield IV, but his running mate is unknown at this time. My team feels strongly that I can beat Mayfield in the upcoming debates, but the more open I become about my relationship with Alex, the more my chances at being elected again slide. Nevertheless, I intend to move forward with our plan to be together regardless of the political outcome.

The last time Alex and I were seen in public together was on our Christmas shopping spree, and now that nearly two months have passed, it's time to dial things up. Eileen and Warren are slow to respond to my request to have another 'splashy' outing, but I don't let up.

"We've lined it up perfectly," I begin, walking into the Oval Office with Eileen and Warren in tow. "My Vice-President was the keynote speaker in November at the annual Human Rights Campaign Dinner. Last month we threw our support behind the Equality Bill for full equal rights for LGBTQ people at the state and federal level. It's time to honor the people who've worked tirelessly on human rights campaigns for the past 50 years. We should and we _will_ be the administration that publicly acknowledges and celebrates their efforts." I spin on my heel and eye each of them. "I want to throw a party."

"A party?" Warren asks. "For gay people?"

"Not just for gay people," I respond. "For the national organizations that support LGBTQ rights."

"Ok, but wouldn't it be better received in June during National Pride Month?"

"And not two weeks before the Republican National Convention?" Eileen adds.

I don't acknowledge their observations. "I'm not talking about all the pomp and circumstance of a State Dinner or the Governor's Ball. This would be a small cocktail party with maybe a three-piece jazz band. We could hold it on a weeknight if that would make less of a splash than having it on a Saturday night."

Eileen doesn't seem to like the idea of this _at all_. "You want to pull the BBQ pit out while we're at it so it'll seem more casual?"

I give her a stern look. "I know this is a leftist issue, but it's important to me. It's important to the millions of Americans who are part of the LGBTQ community."

"Ma'am, if you weren't running for re-election…" Eileen trails off with a sigh. "This is yet another event that could cost you votes."

"I'm so _sick_ of hearing you talk about what's right for me in a re-election year. Ninety-nine percent of what I do is determined by if it's appropriate for my re-election. Just five percent of the time, I'd like to do something because it's generally the _right thing to do_."

"It's absolutely the right thing to do," she retorts. "But it's the wrong time, Madam President!"

"I've done everything you've asked with regards to Alex." I dig in. "Now you're going to do what _I _ask."

They both lower their heads.

"This is non-negotiable. Figure out a way to make it work." I leave my office with a huff, not having any idea where I'm supposed to be next.

* * *

Sure enough, my staff works with the White House Event Coordinator to put together a soiree for the leadership of 20 gay rights organizations including Campus Pride, GLAAD, Human Rights Campaign, The Task Force, and PFLAG. We also invite several _out_ allies of my administration as well as a few gay celebrities, bringing the invite list to 120 with everyone bringing a "plus one," though we expect more like 80-90 people to show up with only a month's notice. This event will also be open to the free press, so we won't be able to control the images like we have with previous events when Alex and I are together.

During the planning period, I'm reminded of the toll this takes on my staff who have to do background checks on every guest. I remind Eileen that they work for us. I thought inviting her son and his husband might be a kind gesture, and although she thanks me, it doesn't do me any favors in her support of this party.

The day before the event, which is on a Thursday night rather than on a weekend, I meet with my team to discuss strategy.

"I'd like to dance with her," I begin, flipping through the pages of designer dresses from which I'm supposed to choose one.

I don't need to look at Eileen to see her eyebrows climbing up her forehead.

"Then you'll need to dance with at least two other gay people," Warren states.

"Are you serious?" I don't want to dance with anyone but Alex. "Why?"

He turns to Jane. "Which celebrities have RSVP'd?"

She glances at her notebook. "Kate McKinnon, Samira Wiley, Ruby Rose—"

"Stop," I interrupt with a hand in the air. "Why would I dance with a celebrity?"

"It's more likely that photographs would appear in the media if you danced with well-known people rather than…" he trails off.

I jut my chin back. "What? _Commoners_?"

Jane fills the awkward silence. "I think what he's trying to say is that if you dance with gay celebrities _and_ Alex, the media would likely run several photos and not just focus on your dance with Alex."

"Exactly." Warren nods.

"This is ridiculous." I've successfully convinced my team to make this event happen against their will, so if I have to jump through a few hoops, I suppose I can do this to placate them. "If I have to dance with anyone other than Alex, choose single people. I don't want the media accusing me of trying to break up a happy couple."

We discuss the order in which I'll dance with two guests plus Alex, and then I go about my business of the day as usual.

* * *

There are already about 70 guests in the East Room when I arrive in my red Dior dress, but I scan the room for only one person. My search ends four seconds after stepping inside as I'm immediately greeted by 10 people, shaking my hand and thanking me for honoring their work. Of course I'm grateful for their enthusiasm, but I don't stop to converse. I weave a path through the room, shaking hands along the way, and end up on the opposite side of the three-piece jazz band, wishing Alex and I had planned where we'd meet. A waiter swings by, presenting a tray dotted with flutes of Champagne, and I quickly take one.

"President Chapman," a man with a lilt to his voice greets me, sticking out his hand. "Kenyon Hykes from PFLAG. I can't thank you enough for hosting this event. We've all been huge supporters since you ran for President the first time, and of course you'll have our full support for re-election."

I shake his hand. "Thank you very much."

Another 15 minutes goes by and I still don't see Alex. I've asked Jane and Warren to keep an eye out for her, but they're off mingling on the other side of the room and would probably be the last people to tell me when Alex arrives anyway. Eileen remains close by with what could only be described as a minor scowl, but her expression changes when her son and his husband greet her. I take that time to sneak back to the entrance in hopes of catching Alex the moment she gets here.

I'm in the middle of a conversation with the 21-year old president of Campus Pride when Alex breezes in with her work-friend, Cooper. I try to conceal my elation, but it's hard when she's wearing a strapless, rose-gold cocktail dress. _She's stunning_. I'm so taken by her mere presence that the young woman I'd been talking to has to tap my arm to regain my attention.

"Will you excuse me?" I don't wait for an answer; instead, I all but sprint to greet Alex. Although I want to pull her close and suffocate in her intoxicating scent, I go for a conservative handshake. "Hi, Alex."

"Hi." Her smile could light up the room. "Sorry I'm late."

"I'm glad you're here," I offer. "Is everything ok?"

"My mom slipped at work and sprained her wrist," she replies. "She'll be fine, but I needed to be sure."

I touch her arm. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. Luckily it was her left wrist, so she'll still be self-sufficient." She tosses her hair over one shoulder. "God forbid if she couldn't pull her own weight," she says in a mocking tone.

"She's a headstrong woman," I respond with a grin. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"True." Alex smiles, and then glances around the ornate room. "Look at this place. It's gorgeous."

I slide my hand down her arm and squeeze her hand. "So are you."

I must've caught her off guard, because she flinches at my touch.

"I commented on the room because I didn't think I could say those words to you with so many people watching us," she admits just above a whisper. "And because if I _truly_ look at you, my licentious eyes will betray me in a heartbeat."

I bite my back teeth hard and ball my fists to try to maintain our distance when really, all I want to do is take her in my arms and kiss the living fuck out of her plump, red lips.

"Good evening, Ms. Vause," Eileen greets her with a business-like handshake. "How are you this evening?"

When Eileen is in the same room as Alex and me, I feel like a sneaky teenager trying to get away with something. I take a step back and lower my eyes.

"I'm fine. Thanks for inviting me."

She releases her hand. "Mind if we have a word with you?"

I crease my brow. "What are you going to tell her that you can't say in front of me?"

Warren leans in. "We're just going to tell Alex what we told you about the dance."

Although I'm uncomfortable with the situation, I allow them to drag Alex away. Besides, I need to mingle so as not to draw attention to the two of us.

I end up in a fascinating conversation about closeted actors with Jane Lynch and Matt Bomer, but they can't garner my full attention when I know my girlfriend is somewhere in this room and not by my side. I try to keep my focus on the two celebrities, but then Alex catches my eye from across the room and smiles, and I'm a goner. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Eileen and Warren did more than just talk to her about our eventual dance—I'm sure they warned her about being too close to me throughout the evening, too.

Jane gives me a signal around eight o'clock to make a brief speech, so I thank everyone for their tireless work on behalf of the LGBTQ community. By now, many of the guests are a bit tipsy so the roaring cheers and claps are more boisterous than I expected. The band starts playing _Fly Me to the Moon_, and that's my cue to dance with ex-NFL player, Michael Sam.

The cameras click as I sway with the tall, muscular man with a killer smile, and I feel better than I thought I would about staging a dance with him. Others join us on the dance floor, and just like that, it's a dance party with jubilant guests who seem to love being able to dance with same-sex partners in the greatest house in the land.

My next dance is with Ruby Rose, and while some may find her attractive, she doesn't hold a candle to Alex. The cameras capture the moment when she dips me, but interestingly they seem far less interested in this dance than my previous one. As the song ends, I spot Alex standing next to Eileen, and I can't control the elation I feel, knowing I get to dance with the woman I love.

The band strikes up _Our Love is Here to Stay_, and Alex walks over and takes my hand. I tuck in my lower lip, trying to conceal an overwhelmingly joyous smile that would surely give me away. She holds my right hand at shoulder-length and places a hand on my hip. There's a decent enough distance between us, but I can still feel the heat radiating off her body. Her smile is a little odd—like she's having as difficult a time as I am trying to keep her true feelings from revealing themselves.

"I didn't think this would feel awkward," she whispers loud enough for me to hear over the music.

"I know." Cameras flash in my face. "Let's fix that." I slowly pull her closer and loosen my grip on her hand, trying to relax. I exhale a long breath, relax my shoulders, and then look into her eyes. "It's just you and me."

Her closed-lip smile becomes more natural as she tucks our outstretched hands closer to her chest.

"Just the two of us," I whisper.

I don't look at Eileen or Warren to confirm the concern (or horror) on their faces; instead, I relish in the moment of dancing with Alex for the first time. I close my eyes, pretending we're the only couple in the room and ignoring the camera flashes. I pull her even closer until there's no space between us and allow my body to enjoy the feeling of her breasts against mine as we sway to the music. I want to rest my head on her shoulder, but I have enough wherewithal to avoid going _that_ far.

She leans down until her lips are against my ear. "There are things I want to do to you right now that require extreme privacy."

I let out a harsh snort. "You're not going to rip my dress off in the middle of the dance floor?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Please don't put more dirty thoughts into my head."

"Stay the night." I blink up at her, my expression turning from fun and laughter to lustful. "Stay with me. I'll find a way to make it happen."

Her eyes darken. "There was no way I was leaving here tonight—at least not without you."

The song comes to an end and the guests clap and I'm suddenly transported back to reality in one, vicious moment. Alex steps back, and I catch Eileen's eye. She's looking at me like a lion eyes its prey. This is not going to be pretty.

The cameras are still snapping photos as my Chief of Staff approaches me with what I know is a fake smile. "A word please, Madam President?"

I follow her across the room and glance back at Alex who remains perfectly still exactly where I left her. She appears tense and worried. I want to go back and reassure her that _everything will be ok_, but I don't know that for certain.

Eileen leads me into the side room where Warren and Jane are standing. "What in the hell was that?"

There's nothing I can say in this moment to defend myself, so I say the only thing that comes to mind. "We were dancing!"

"_That_ was not dancing." She shakes her head. "_Dancing_ is what you did with Michael Sam and Ruby Rose!"

I glance at Jane who seems almost frightened and Warren looks like he's going to vomit.

"I love her!" I blurt out. "I'm _in_ love with her!" My chest rises and falls in rapid succession. "_Nothing_ is worth being apart from Alex…not even re-election."

Eileen appears taken aback, but she quickly recovers. "Well, Madam President," she sighs. "That's good to hear because you might've just lost your chance at another four years."

I want to tell her to _fuck off_, but I control my temper. "So be it, then." I walk to the door, but before opening it, I turn to my three staffers. "Alex will be spending the night with me. Don't even _try_ to talk me out of it." With that, I leave the room in search of the woman for whom I might've given up another term as President of the United States.

I don't stop to shake hands or to chat with the guests. I have a mission to find Alex and to get the fuck out of this room and away from public scrutiny. I find her by the bar with her friend Cooper.

"I'm leaving," I state without preamble.

She seems surprised. "Now?"

I nod, eyes focused solely on the woman in front of me. "Meet me upstairs in 15 minutes."

I don't wait for her response; instead, I weave through the crowd stopping only twice to thank a few guests for coming, and then head directly to my bedroom. I don't want to see or hear from Eileen tonight, and I'm pretty sure she got that message loud and clear a few minutes ago. I'm livid at her for telling me that I was basically dancing too intimately with Alex. While that's probably true, I'm done making excuses about my relationship. If there was a reporter with me right now, I'd spill my guts to get this thing off my chest.

I slam the door, plop on my bed, not even bothering to take off my shoes, and stare up at the ceiling. How did I get myself into this situation? Anyone in their right mind would be attracted to Alex—she's tall, fit, smart, sexy, witty—the list goes on and on. I don't understand how she's not in a relationship. If I would've met her a year ago or ten years ago, I have no doubt we would've found a way to be together.

A knock on my door startles me. "Yes?"

"Ms. Vause is here, ma'am."

"Send her in." I sit half-way up, elbows bent on the mattress.

"Hey," she greets with a tentative smile. "Everything ok?"

"Does it seem that way?"

She walks over to me. "Not really."

I flop on my back again. "I hate this stuff. I _really_ hate it."

Alex lets out a long breath through her nose. "Yeah." She sits on the edge of the bed. "But I liked dancing with you."

I twist my neck to look at her. "So did I."

She takes my hand, rubbing her thumb across my knuckles. "Are you worried about the media releasing pictures of us?"

I nod.

"Yeah."

I blink up at her and decide to confess. "I told Eileen and Warren that I'm in love with you."

Her eyebrows arch.

"And that being with you was worth me losing the election."

I didn't think her brows could crawl any higher, but they find a way. "Piper, I—"

"Don't tell me you won't allow it," I interrupt. "You don't get to make that decision for me." I sit up, squeezing her hand. "I love you. I want to be with you, and I don't care who knows. Let me rephrase that—I want _everyone_ to know how I feel about you, Alex."

"As liberating as that sounds, you know we can't do that, right?" she asks through a sweet chuckle.

We remain silent for a moment, and so many thoughts are swirling through my head it almost makes me dizzy. I take a few calming breaths and then meet her eye.

"You look beautiful tonight." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I would've been honored to walk around that room holding your hand, stealing a few kisses, dancing with you…" I trail off.

She cups my cheek with one hand. "I know."

"We're going to find a way to make this work." I kiss her. "I promise."

Instead of trying to verbally convince Alex of how serious and dedicated I am to making this work, I show her. We make love slowly—_intentionally_—well into the night. This moment marks the beginning of my fight to be with her _and_ to win re-election. I won't give up.


	12. Chapter 12

I'm going to petition the powers that be to make _waking up with Alex_ the eighth Wonder of the World. It's a gift to rise before she does, because I get to observe her in the most peaceful state. There are no blemishes on her soft, milky-white skin and she has no wrinkles despite being in her mid-40s. I wonder what she does to make her hair this shiny and smooth. She reminds me of a sea nymph—_a goddess_. I want to stare at her longer, but my fingers betray me and trace a line along her plump lower lip. I smile as her face twitches and eyes flutter open.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asks in a sleepy voice.

My smile widens. "Because I can."

"I guess that's valid." She pulls me down for a hug. "Good morning, babe."

I kiss the side of her head. "Morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

I nod. "You?"

"Yeah. I think your bed is magical."

I chuckle. "It's a presidential bed, so probably."

She matches my laugh, and then maneuvers her arm until my head rests on her chest. "Have you turned on the news yet?"

"No."

"Basking in the innocence of the unknown?" she asks.

"Yes," I sigh. "I don't want to see what the media has to say about last night."

"Maybe they'll think you had more chemistry with Ruby Rose than with me."

That causes me to snort. "Impossible."

She reaches for the remote. "Let's find out."

The television is already on CNN, so Alex adjusts the volume and props her back against the headboard, tugging me up with her, still with her arm around my shoulders. We wait through a commercial break for the program to return, and when it does, Erin Burnett looks into the camera.

"_We're back with Carolyn Ackerman, a photographer from The Washington Post," Burnett says. "All the talk this morning is about President Chapman and lobbyist Alex Vause dancing at last night's LGBTQ party at the White House."_

"Why do they always have to preface my name with my job?" Alex complains.

"_By now you've seen the photographs," she pauses._

Two pictures appear on the screen. The first was taken when we initially began dancing, so as incriminating photos go, this one is benign, but the second was snapped when the song was almost over and we were dancing far too close for it to be construed as platonic.

"_You were there, Carolyn. Is the old adage true—a picture says a thousand words?" Burnett asks._

"_Not only was I there," she responds. "I'm the one who took these photographs."_

I slam my eyes shut. "Fuck."

"_Before I comment, I want to go on record stating that I'm a Chapman supporter and that hasn't changed because of last night," Ackerman states. "In fact, I might admire the President even more."_

"_Why is that?"_

A video surfaces of the two of us dancing, and I can see why Eileen was so furious with me.

"_She's human," Ackerman replies. "She's clearly got a thing for Ms. Vause and has a hard time hiding it even though she had to know photographers were everywhere."_

"_Yes, about that," Burnett comments. "The President knew there were photographers—that's not something her staff would keep from her. She's also a savvy politician. There's no way she thought this would be a private moment between her and Ms. Vause, correct?"_

"_That's right."_

"_So are we to assume the President wanted the public to see her dancing with her presumed girlfriend?"_

I gulp. "Oh, God."

"_If you're asking if this was a staged moment, I don't think it was," Ackerman answers. "Perhaps the other two dances were staged in order for the one with Ms. Vause to seem casual, but if that's the case, they failed."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I haven't been able to tune in to all the news programs or read the papers this morning, but I've yet to see pictures of the President dancing with Ruby Rose or Michael Sam," Ackerman replies. "If you ask me, President Chapman just outed herself and now the public is most likely convinced she either has a massive crush on another woman or that Ms. Vause is, in fact, her girlfriend."_

"_Fuck_," I mumble. "This is really happening."

"Looks that way." Alex squeezes my shoulder. "I'm surprised your phone isn't ringing off the hook or that someone isn't banging on the door."

"I scared the crap out of Eileen last night," I reply. "She knows to stay away from me until I give her the green light. I'm sure she and Warren are allowing me a couple hours to cool off."

"Not exactly a good place to be with your Chief of Staff," she notes.

"No."

"_Thank you for your time, Carolyn. We'll be back after a word from our sponsors," the reporter states. _

Alex turns the channel to Fox News, and as expected, I hear words like _lesbian lover, lack of family values_ and _shameful_.

I swing my legs over the bed. "Looks like the honeymoon stage is over."

"You call the last few months our _honeymoon stage_?" I appreciate Alex trying to lighten the mood.

We take turns showering, and then she changes into a pair of my jeans and a sweater while I put on a typical business suit.

"I need to meet with Eileen and Warren first thing this morning." I slide into a pair of loafers. "And I want you there with me."

She turns off the hairdryer. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"It's going to happen."

She smirks. "If you say so, Madam President."

I think she secretly likes when I act presidential in private. I'll file that away for the future when everything doesn't feel so grave.

* * *

As expected, I get a good tongue lashing by Eileen, but she keeps it above board. She's stern but isn't insubordinate or disrespectful. I hope that would be true if Alex _wasn't_ in the room, but I have my doubts. After the way we danced together last night, I anticipated Eileen's ire this morning.

"We think it's best if you _don't_ make a statement—at least not yet," Warren says.

I wasn't thinking about telling the world that Alex is my girlfriend, so it surprises me that my Director of Communication feels the need to state it's not time to come out to the public.

He continues, "We're going to let the dance thing play out and continue putting our allies in front of the media."

"It's not too hard to keep reporters away from the President," Eileen turns to Alex. "But we can't keep them away from you."

Alex stands a little taller.

"You're going to work with Warren and Jane on dealing with the media," Eileen continues. "I have a call lined up with Booker and Nowak to fill them in on what's going on between the two of you, and if you'd like to be part of that call, you're welcome to do so."

Alex seems agitated. "You're calling my bosses?"

"Alex can fill them in on everything," I chime in. "There's no need for you to be involved."

"There is, ma'am," Eileen states. "You're welcome to be on the line with us, too."

"What do they have to do with my relationship?" Alex questions.

"Reporters are relentless," Warren responds. "They will hunt down your third grade teacher, your college roommate and everyone who has ever known you. We want to ensure that the people who know you best have a few lines they can use when the press gets to them."

"What about my mom?"

"Her, too." Eileen nods once.

I hold Alex's hand. "What are you going to advise Alex to say to reporters?"

"Mostly we'll ask that you respond with 'no comment'," Jane states. "But in the heat of the moment, you might want to blurt something out to get them off your back. We're going to coach you about how to reply in moments like that."

"How _would_ she reply?"

Eileen and Warren glance at each other, but it's Jane who continues. "You'll simply state that you don't comment on the President's personal life."

"That's it?" Alex asks.

"It might not deter them, but it'll give you some breathing room," Jane says.

Alex rubs her temples as if a headache is coming on.

I know the answer to this, but I ask anyway. "How long will we be under scrutiny?"

"As long as you're the President of the United States," Eileen states plainly.

I glance up at Alex, concerned about the pressure she must feel. "I don't want this to be uncomfortable for her."

"With all due respect, ma'am, that ship has sailed," Eileen replies. "We'll pick up this conversation again in a couple days." She glances at her watch. "We have to be in the Situation Room in than five minutes."

I turn to Alex. "Are you ok?"

She nods and issues a dim smile. "Yeah."

"I'll call as soon as I can." I kiss her.

While Alex stays behind to work with Warren and Jane, I get whisked away.

"Why do we have to be in the Situation Room?" I ask, doing my best to shift gears to the matter at hand.

"A cargo ship was captured by Somali pirates in the Socotra Passage early this morning," Eileen reports.

"One of ours?"

"No." Eileen shakes her head. "A Taiwanese ship with 22 crew members on board. Three of them are American."

Before entering the Situation Room, Eileen turns to me, and I can tell by the set of her jaw she's about to change topics. "Jane's going to get slammed today."

I lower my eyes, knowing I'm putting my Press Secretary in a tough position. "I know."

"We're going to eventually have to come at this thing head on," she replies. "Maybe not today or tomorrow but soon."

I nod. "Get Stephanie Horowitz in the building as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The next two weeks are even more challenging than the one before with global and national pressures on top of _The Alex Thing_. The pictures of us dancing land on the cover of _US Weekly_ and two other celebrity magazines. Our dance isn't the headline in most newspapers, but it's not buried either—most reputable newspapers have pictures with a story on page three or four. We're not just the talk of the town but of the entire country. Warren arranges to have a few of our allies interviewed by the print media as well as on news shows just like he did a few months ago. Even my staunchest allies can't really avoid admitting that Alex and I appear to be a couple, but their job is to turn the attention to my record rather than to my personal life.

Eileen was right—Jane gets slammed by the press when she answers all their questions with _The White House doesn't comment on the President's personal life_. Their frustration makes Jane irritable, which in turn, makes me feel like crap for putting her in this position. When this whole thing is over, I'm going to have to buy her a stiff round of drinks.

My team comes up with a strategy that allows me to get a few small victories to remind citizens of what an effective President I am. Over the next two months, I order the US military to assist the Taiwanese government in freeing the crew members from the cargo ship off the coast of Somalia unharmed; host a summit on police brutality and how to better train our men and women in blue; and perhaps most impressively, begin a government buy-back program on assault rifles. Of course, I only have a small part in all those things—my team does the heavy lifting, and I couldn't be any prouder of their tenacious efforts.

Alex has been fending off the press this whole time, and while many reporters have given up trying to get her to comment on our relationship, there are still those who persist. The paparazzi is so bad she has to move to an apartment across town. I offer to pay her rent, but she thinks that's nonsense. What I'd really love to do is ask her to move in with me, but somehow, I don't think that would fly. We spend one night a week together if we're lucky and it's never the same night so as to not draw attention to ourselves. Although it's difficult to live like this, it's where we are for now.

* * *

In early April, Alex gets a call from _Vogue_, asking if they can do a spread on her, and much to my surprise, my team thinks it's a good idea _if_ we get to review the article before it goes to print. Although she's nervous about the exposure, she accepts their offer and lines up a time to meet with photographer Annie Leibovitz and editor-in-chief Anna Wintour.

I wish I could be around to hear about her experience in person, but I find myself traveling to San Diego after a 7.0 earthquake hits the area. After visiting the most heavily affected neighborhoods, I make the most of my time there by meeting with Border Patrol to discuss immigration. This means I have to settle for a phone call with Alex, telling me all about her meeting with Annie Leibovitz.

I take off my earrings. "How'd it go?"

I can hear her grinning over the phone. "Good."

"Figured as much." I smile. "What did you end up wearing?" In a conversation prior to my departure for California, Alex was torn about what outfit to wear to the photoshoot. I told her they'd likely dress her anyway, so what she chose to wear to the site was insignificant. Still, she wanted to look her best to meet the famous photographer.

"You were right," she begins. "I didn't even meet Annie Leibovitz until the stylist dressed me. I must've worn seven or eight outfits," she comments. "There were a few I really liked, but the others were fucking stupid. I heard one of the blouses cost $900. It was this traditional Oxford shirt that I would've paid $70 for at Brooks Brothers."

"You mean your blouses don't typically cost close to $1,000?" I joke.

"Only if they're on sale," she quips.

I change into pajamas. "How'd the interview go?"

"We're only halfway done," she responds. "Anna Wintour will finish with me tomorrow."

"What kind of questions has she asked so far?" I proceed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

"A lot about where I grew up, my first job, and when I knew I wanted to be a lobbyist…"

"Did you tell her you never thought you'd be a lobbyist?"

"Yeah. I said I didn't even know what a lobbyist was until well into college."

I turn on the lamp on the bedside table before flicking the light switch off. "Did she ask about law school?"

I picture her nodding. "The whole interview so far has been about my younger years," Alex replies. "The last two questions were about how I got involved in gun control issues and how I ended up in DC."

"All pretty basic stuff so far." I crawl into bed. "Did you tell her you wouldn't divulge information about us?"

"I did, but she already knew that."

I pull the covers over my lower body. "Are you nervous about deflecting those kinds of questions?"

"A little."

"I'm sure you'll do great. Promise to call me after you're done tomorrow," I state.

"I will. Are you in bed?"

I turn the lamp off. "Yeah. You?"

"I have a few more things to wrap up, but I'll be asleep within the hour."

"Good. I love you, Alex."

"Love you, too."

I drift off to sleep, picturing Alex at a _Vogue_ photoshoot. I can't wait to see the spread.

* * *

As promised, the people at _Vogue_ forward the article before they run it, and my team and I are pleased with the coverage. They kept the tone professional and made Alex sound like this badass political operative (which she _is_) who made a name for herself _before_ meeting me. Eileen is particularly happy that they didn't make it seem like Alex was riding my coattails to become a highly respected lobbyist.

Alex hasn't shown me the photos the magazine chose to run, informing me I'd have to wait like the rest of the world for the big reveal. I remind her that I am anything but _the rest of the world_, which only causes her smirk to become more pronounced as she has me exactly where she wants me.

The day before _Vogue_ finally hits the shelves, Alex spends the night. It's getting easier to sneak her into my residence by using diversion tactics. My car service never picks her up from the same location or at the same time. Even if the paparazzi were to follow her, they couldn't get into the gates of the White House to confirm Alex was in the car. I insist on paying the drivers out of my personal bank account so that taxpayers aren't footing the bill to sneak my lover around DC.

Just after 9 p.m. I strip out of my business suit in favor of black leggings and a white sweatshirt with the neck cut out, revealing my teal-colored bra strap. "What are you hiding?"

"Jennifer Beals called," Alex greets me through a grin. "She wants her outfit back."

"I happen to love _Flashdance_, so I'll keep my sweatshirt on, thank you very much."

I reach for her arm, but she pulls away, keeping whatever is behind her back secret. "It's a surprise!"

"Give it to me." I put my hands on my hips. "Please?"

She holds up her free hand. "I will preface this by saying I didn't know they were going to publish one of the pictures." She reveals the copy of _Vogue_ with her photo on the front. "But Annie told me how proud she was of that particular shot, so I agreed to let them use it."

"_Annie_?" I question. "You're on a first name basis now?"

She laughs.

I reach for the magazine and stare at the cover with my mouth slightly ajar. Alex is sitting on a chair that's backwards, so her legs are open. One arm is resting across the chair's wooden arch, and the other is bent at the elbow and she's propping her head up. She's wearing a fitted charcoal-gray suit with a light blue blouse that's unbuttoned all the way except for the last one. (It reminds me of the blouse she wore the first time we had sex.) The arch of the chair covers her breasts, so all you can see is the start of her cleavage, but you really have to look closely to even see that. Her hair is shiny and straightened, and I assume a fan was blowing in her direction as the wind gently sweeps the dark locks over her shoulders. Although she has her glasses on, the lighting allows her eyes to shine a perfect shade of green, reminding me of how closely matched they are to the earrings I gave her for Christmas.

"_Wow_," is all I can mutter.

"That's not the picture I was talking about."

My eyes snap to hers. "No?"

"Mmm mm." She shakes her head and turns the pages until finding the one where the spread about her begins. "It's this one."

"Oh…_well_…" I gape at a photo of my girlfriend lying on her back with stacks of books around her, wearing a classic Oxford shirt rolled up at the sleeves and rainbow-colored boyshorts—_that's it_. She's holding the book, _Private Guns, Public Health_, above her head as if she's reading, and that's when I notice the books surrounding her are all about gun control. Her left foot is on the ground, leg bent at the knee, and her right ankle is perched on the other knee. She looks casual, brilliant and _so fucking sexy_ I can hardly stand it.

"We did this whole shoot with the gun control books, mostly of me sitting on a sofa or behind a desk like this one," she begins with an almost airy voice as if she has _no idea _how much this is arousing me. Alex points to a much more modest picture of her behind a desk. "We were between takes, or so I thought, so I laid down and started reading David Hemenway's book. Not that I haven't read it before. It was on the top of the pile, so I—"

"Just started reading?" I feel my eyes darken with desire. "In your underwear?"

"They made me wear these black pants that were so fucking tight I had trouble zipping them. Annie Leibovitz watched me struggle with the clasp and asked me to stop moving. My rainbow underwear was peeking out, so…" she turns the page. "They went with this one."

Now, I'm staring at a photo of Alex with the peek-a-boo underwear and a tuxedo shirt that's mostly buttoned with a bowtie hanging undone around her neck. She's got her thumb and forefinger wrapped around the edge of her glasses and she's looking away from the camera, laughing.

"I heard this guy yell, _fuck_, and when I turned to see what happened, I saw this _Vogue_ intern drop an entire rack of mink coats, and he slipped trying to save them before they hit the ground." She starts chuckling, again having no clue about my lack of interest in anything other than salivating over the photos in the magazine.

Though her story is comical, the last thing I feel right now is _amused_.

I toss the magazine on the bed and saunter back over to her loosely wrapping my arms around her neck.

"Don't you want to read the article?" Alex seems genuinely surprised.

"I read it yesterday." I recognize that my voice is about two octaves lower than normal.

Her grin gives her away—she finally gets the fact that I'm turned on and now she's just toying with me. "What if they made some changes?" She places her hands on my hips.

"I'll read it later." I lean in to kiss her. "Right now…" I pull back enough to unbutton her blouse. "I need this." I run my palm between her breasts.

Alex's grin has turned into a cocky smirk. "You need sex?"

I unzip her pants. "I need sex."

"Well, then…" She sobers when my fingers touch her clit. "Who am I to withhold anything from the President?"

I don't waste time getting her completely undressed while all she can manage is to remove my sweatshirt. I turn us around until she's forced to sit on the bed, and that's when I get on my knees. She tastes silky and sweet and a little like tangerines. I want to take my time, but Alex puts her hand on the back of my head, and I know she needs to cum faster than I'd like.

She tosses her head back and tries quite unsuccessfully to stifle her cries, but I don't care who hears us. I lick and nip at her pussy until I'm certain she's done, and then I kiss a path up her torso until finding her mouth. She wraps her arms and legs around my body as I smile against her lips.

"Proud of yourself?" she asks through shallow pants.

"Very," I answer, still smiling.

"Those pictures just about did you in."

"They didn't 'just about' do anything." I maneuver both of us more fully onto the mattress. "I mean, what's a woman to do?" I reach for the abandoned magazine and turn to page 87. "_Look_ at you."

"Look at me." With two fingers under my chin, she twists my head toward her. "In the flesh."

"Naked in my bed," I note, feeling another sudden urge to fuck her.

It's Alex's turn to ravage my body. I love it when she's in charge, though I think she'd say the same about me. I was once so tentative about having sex with a woman, but now I'm uncaged. She hoists me until my back hits the headboard and I'm seated with my legs wide open for her. She tugs off my leggings, eyebrow arching when she notices I'm not wearing underwear, and then she kisses my center. My hips buck off the bed, and I know it'll be a fight for me to last more than three minutes. When her tongue taps my clit followed by a few long licks of my center and I glance at the pictures in the magazine one more time, I'm gone.

"We have to work on your stamina," she says, kissing her way up my body.

"Because yours is so good?" I joke.

"Better than yours."

I toss an arm over her shoulders as she snuggles against me. "Oh really? Then let me give you an award for being able to last a whole five minutes before having an orgasm."

She laughs as she kisses my cheek. "I'll graciously accept, Madam President."

* * *

Turns out, the _Vogue_ spread put Alex in a positive light and set her up _as her own person_ independent of her relationship with me. From what my team gathers, she is seen as a force to be reckoned with in the political world. _Vogue_ gives her credit for devising the Rappaport Deal, which is true, and paints her as a staunch opponent of the NRA. Of course, that comes with its own brand of criticism from the Right, but we all expected that. The photos are another story, and it seems the public is divided as to what to think. Some think she looks like an intelligent femme fatale, but others believe she's over sexualized.

There are only a few sentences in the three-page spread about Alex being gay, but the rainbow underwear made a bigger statement than any words captured in the article. Eileen worries a bit about the public connecting the dots of Alex being gay to the dance we shared, but Warren confirms that the public has long ago made the assumption that we're a couple.

The only mention of me in the article comes at the end, when Anna Wintour asks how Alex came to know me. She shares the true story of being in the gun control meeting in the Roosevelt Room, and leaves it with the fact that we became friends along the way. Wintour closes the article writing: _Vause has one mission, and that's to end gun violence America. She's steadfast if not aggressive in her efforts to make changes to our country's Second Amendment. After spending a couple days with her, I don't doubt she's the woman who can and will do it._

The _Vogue_ spread along with my presidential efforts over the last four months have taken some of the spotlight off of our relationship. My work has been nothing but good deeds for our nation. Stephanie Horowitz, my campaign manager, thinks I should make a statement about my relationship at the Democratic National Convention in two weeks, while also touting everything I've accomplished. (Other than my senior staff and Alex's mother, Stephanie is the only person who knows the truth about my relationship with Alex.) I talk it over with my advisors and they want to see new polling numbers before agreeing to the plan.

A week before the DNC, I meet with Stephanie, Eileen and Warren in the Oval Office.

"I've got the latest polling numbers from Maxine Sutton." Stephanie shuffles a few pages, reading off the same five statements in the random poll Maxie put together last fall, and the results this time around are remarkably similar except for the last question which reads: "Would you vote for a candidate with whom you shared values and who aligned with your political viewpoint if you knew that candidate was in a same-sex relationship?"

I have flashbacks to the previous we did this. "Well? What did they say?"

"Last fall, the overall response was 64 percent 'no' and 36 percent 'yes'," Stephanie states. "Broken down to Democrats and Republicans it was 40 percent 'yes' for Dems and 28 percent 'yes' for Republicans."

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "You're killing me, Stephanie."

"This week's poll is 48 percent 'no'," A grin tugs at her lips. "Which means 52 percent of the people surveyed said they'd support a candidate who was in a same-sex relationship."

I jump to my feet. "_Are you serious_?"

Eileen folds her arms, but I detect a small smile lurking behind her stoic expression.

"You still have an uphill battle with Republicans weighing in at a 61 percent disapproval rating, but you won't need to turn any of them," Stephanie continues. "If you secure the Democratic votes for re-election and can convince half of the moderates to vote in your favor…" She pauses and eyes Eileen then me. "You'll win."

"Are you sure?" I grab the papers from her, but I don't really know what I'm looking at other than lots of numbers and graphs.

She nods, tugging on her blazer. "Positive."

I'd hoped I'd gained momentum but having 52 percent of citizens say they'd still vote for me even if I'm in a same-sex relationship is a _huge_ win. "What changed to make the numbers move in my direction?"

"Pardon my language ma'am, but you've been governing the hell out of this country," she says through a light laugh. "And you've had the right people on the news circuits and quoted in print, supporting your work and brushing off discussion about your relationship with Ms. Vause."

I hand the report back to her. "What about the trashy magazines and the idiots on those conservative talk shows, not to mention Ian Mayfield blabbing about family values?"

"The magazines made it seem like you and Ms. Vause are in love but can't be together—the classic love story that tugs at the heartstrings," she begins. "The _Vogue_ spread gave some credence to Alex and shed some light on her role as a bonafide political operative," she continues. "The conservatives, including Ian Mayfield, will never be on your side."

"Tell me about it," Warren adds.

"The trouble they're having right now is denying you're doing a good job running our country. They keep trying to bring it back to family values and asking people not to vote for a homosexual president, but your allies shift the conversation effectively back to your record." Stephanie shrugs. "Quite simply, they aren't getting the traction they'd like because you're making the nation better."

I let out a dry huff, hardly believing what I'm hearing.

"That's why I think it's time for you to come clean at the Democratic National Convention when you get the nomination."

I swallow hard. "Really?"

She nods. "That's the time for you to make a statement about your relationship with Ms. Vause."

"I'm not so sure—" Eileen begins.

"I am," Stephanie rebuts with a single nod. "She's got momentum, Eileen. If she waits until closer to the election, the public might blame her for holding out too long. If she makes the statement at the DNC, she's officially opening up her re-election campaign with the truth."

"I agree," I reply even though it scares the crap out of me. "That's the best time to come clean and ask the public to focus on the future of our country rather than what's happening in my personal life."

"Exactly," Stephanie responds. "It's going to take a round the clock effort to nail the speech, so I recommend we meet with Warren and his team every day from now until the convention."

"You'll need to practice more than usual," Eileen chimes in. "You can't go on that stage all doe-eyed."

Stephanie stifles a chuckle. "You can show some emotion about your feelings for Ms. Vause, but you'll need to quickly recover and focus on your record and what you still intend to do to serve the people."

"I can do that."

"Very well. I'll set up a meeting with your assistant, and we'll go from there." Stephanie shakes my hand before exiting.

I turn to Eileen and Warren. "I guess we have our work cut out for us."


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I'm jumping time about six months. Hope it's not too jarring. Also,** this chapter is rated Mature**.

* * *

On a particularly brisk Autumn evening, I'm told that I'm meeting a couple of diplomats for a last-minute dinner off site. This isn't something that happens regularly, but if Eileen thinks it's vital that I attend such a meeting, I'll indulge.

"I've never even heard of these people." I scan a briefing bio as I ride in the sedan with Eileen and Blake. "Anwar Rasich and Celine Fang?"

"They're Security Engineering Officers," Eileen reports. "They provide technical security support and engineering expertise to protect our foreign service posts overseas."

"Why are they not meeting with the Secretary of State?" I question.

"They meet with him regularly," she replies. "But as I'm sure you've heard, Terrance has pneumonia, so his staff asked if you'd step in."

"We're ramping up cybersecurity in the Middle East, and with the conflict in Iran escalating, this is a timely matter," Blake explains. "Still, it should be a quick and easy dinner."

"With a lot of head nodding," Eileen finishes.

"If you say so." I glance out the window wishing it was daylight so I could see the last of the fall foliage.

"Here we are," Eileen announces.

The agent opens the car door, and I step out. "I get to eat at an actual restaurant in public?"

"Not exactly," she replies. "They've shut the whole place down for your meeting."

I shrug into my light jacket. "That can't be good for business."

"You'll take a couple pictures with the chef and the limited waitstaff," Blake says. "Trust me, that'll be worth its weight in gold."

I notice the understated restaurant name on the side of a wooden wall and remember reading about The Dabney in the _Lifestyle_ section of the paper a few times. I know it to be a high-priced farm to table restaurant with an innovative chef/owner.

I step inside and am greeted by the scent of a wood burning oven and grilled meat. The restaurant has a rustic-chic vibe with a smattering of square, wooden tables and a long bar with about 15 stools.

"Welcome to The Dabney," a man greets me with a firm handshake. "I'm Jeramiah Langhorne, the chef and owner. It's a privilege to host you tonight, Madam President."

"It's an honor to dine here," I respond. "I can't tell you how excited I am to have a meal outside of the White House."

"Well, we've prepared a scrumptious meal for you, so I hope you enjoy."

"Let's get a photo," Blake says, pulling out his phone.

I get my picture taken with the chef, and then another few photos with the sous chef and server. Those appear to be the only restaurant staff in the building.

I turn to Eileen. "Are we a little early? Where are our guests?"

"_Guest_ as in singular," I hear a familiar voice from behind.

"_Alex_?" I whip around. "What are you doing here?"

She saunters over in a stunning dress that ties at the waist, accentuating her curves. "You won't be meeting with any diplomats tonight."

I shake my head. "I don't understand."

"It's our anniversary." She smiles, taking my hands in hers. "Well, technically, we don't have an _exact_ anniversary unless you count the day before Thanksgiving when we had our first kiss, but I chose this random date mostly because it was the only evening when you're free."

"I…" I stumble. "I don't know what to say…You all staged a diplomatic meeting so I could have dinner with Alex?"

Eileen tries to conceal a grin, but it's useless. "Yes, ma'am."

"Didn't you think it was odd that I was here instead of Warren?" Blake asks.

"I didn't think anything of it," I reply.

"Jeramiah and I went to high school together," he explains. "He's still a good friend and has promised his staff's discretion."

"We had them sign some non-disclosure forms just to be sure," Eileen adds.

"I can't believe it." I hug Alex. "_You_?"

"Me." She kisses the side of my head. "Happy anniversary, babe."

I throw my arms around her, stunned that they were able to pull this off.

"We're not going to join you for dinner, ma'am," Blake says. "But I hope you enjoy."

"I certainly will."

Eileen touches Alex's sleeve. "Take good care of her."

"Always."

The two of them depart, but a Secret Service agent remains just inside the door. I spot another agent in the kitchen and wouldn't be surprised to learn that a couple more are lurking around.

"This is…" I trail off.

"A good idea?" Alex offers.

"Beyond." I look around again, marveled that we get to dine alone in this beautiful restaurant. "I can't believe you did this."

"It wasn't easy." She grabs my hand, tugging me to a table by the fireplace. "Eileen is warming up to me though."

I sit across from her. "It's about time."

"Don't get too excited—it's a low simmer," she chuckles. "Turns out, Jane's our biggest fan on your staff."

I place a napkin on my lap. "She's the one with the biggest heart, that's for sure."

A server approaches us. "It's an honor to serve you tonight, Madam President."

"Thank you," I reply.

"May I bring you a cocktail?"

I hadn't even looked at the embossed cocktail menu. "Oh, I'll have the…" I scan the list until I see something with bourbon. "_Respect Your Elderberries_." It's a cocktail with Eagle Rare 10-year bourbon, elderberry shrub, smoked maple and cinnamon.

"Excellent choice. And for you?"

"I'll have Buffalo Trace on the rocks, please," she orders.

"Very good." He takes the cocktail menus and replaces them with a single-page dinner menu. "Chef Langhorne is pleased to present an extensive tasting menu for you tonight. Each course will be served with a wine pairing, and tonight all of our selections are from the Sonoma Valley AVA. Any food aversions or allergies we should know about?"

We shake our heads. "No, I think we're good."

"I'll be right back with your drinks."

"Have you been here before?" I ask.

"I came for lunch a couple months ago," she replies. "It was delicious. That's one of the reasons I decided on this place for dinner tonight. It didn't hurt that Blake knows the owner."

I reach for her hand. "I'm still in shock."

She smiles.

"This might be the first time in two years I've eaten at a restaurant," I say. "Chef Renoir does an excellent job with the menu at home, but I miss eating out."

She quirks one eyebrow, and I know it's because of my _eating out_ statement.

The server arrives with our cocktails and an amuse-bouche, and Alex and I talk about some of our favorite meals. Conversing with her has always been a breeze and we never run out of things to discuss. She tells me about her mom's tuna casserole, which is still her all-time favorite meal (I don't give her as much shit about that as I'd like to—I know she grew up poor and it felt like a delicacy to have a good meal). I tell her about my mom's horrible cooking and my dad burning everything he tried to grill.

The chef presents the first two courses: grilled shishito peppers and charred eggplant. He explains the white wine that the server pours and then disappears into the kitchen. The evening goes much like this—Alex and I continue talking about food and impressive dishes we've had in our adult lives and the chef continues to present exquisite and delicious food to us. Not once do we talk politics, and it's a refreshing departure from what I'm accustomed to in my daily life.

After a two-hour dining experience capped off with butterscotch pie and French press decaf coffee, my driver enters the restaurant.

"Is everything alright?" I ask him.

"Yes, ma'am. I just wanted to announce my presence," he states. "I'll be in the car when you and Ms. Vause are ready to depart."

I lift my brows. "Me _and_ Ms. Vause?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I turn to Alex. "Did you arrange _this_, too?"

"I did." She rubs the back of my hand.

"This whole night has been…" I shake my head. "_Magical_."

"I'm glad." She pushes her chair out. "I don't know about you, but I'm stuffed."

"So am I, but I'm not too full to…_you know_." I wiggle my eyebrows.

She grins. "Sometimes I marvel that you're the leader of the free world."

"Why?" I follow her to the kitchen to thank the chef and his staff.

Ignoring my question, she extends a hand to Chef Langhorne. "Thank you so much for everything tonight. It was spectacular."

"Yes, thank you." I do the same. "I'll never forget it."

He nods. "Glad you enjoyed it. Happy anniversary."

"You won't tell anyone about this, right?" I ask.

"If I did, I think your Chief of Staff would bury me," he offers with a smile.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Alex comments.

We make our way to the car hand-in-hand.

I rest my head on her shoulder as we roll down the streets of DC. "This was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"I'm glad."

I close my eyes and enjoy the fullness of my belly and the company of the woman next to me. I must've drifted off to sleep, because when I open my eyes, the car is parked and Alex is poking my arm.

"Where are we?" I ask, whipping my head around.

"You're spending the night with me," Alex says. "At my apartment."

"Are you serious? Does Eileen know about this?"

She gives me a look. "We've been together for a year. Do you honestly think I would leave her out of the loop on something like this?"

"I…No, but _how_?"

"There are some plain-clothes Secret Service agents around the building," she states. "They've been checking out the place for the last few days to make sure it's safe."

"Really?"

She nods. "This won't be the first time they've been around. My neighbors are either oblivious or they know I've been in the media and probably figure I'd need protection from the paparazzi."

"So, it's safe?"

"You _will_ have to put on this wig, wear sunglasses and put your hood over your head."

I stare at the wig. "Are you serious? A _pink _wig?"

"You can thank Chris for that."

"My personal aide, Chris?"

"Yeah," she chuckles. "We don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. We can just as easily go to—"

I stop her. "I'd love to do this. I've never seen where you live."

"Alright."

"And Eileen is ok with it, so I guess we're good." I place the pink wig on my head.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say she was 'ok' with it, but she knows about it and ordered the Secret Service protection."

I put on the dark glasses. "How do I look?"

"Hot, actually." She cocks an eyebrow. "Ready?"

"I guess." I step out of the car, putting my hood over the wig and keeping my head bowed.

It's only about ten steps to Alex's brownstone, and we make haste as we quietly go inside.

"We made it," I say, lowering the hood. "I finally get to see where you live."

She kicks her shoes off. "It's bigger than the shoebox I lived in when we met."

"And not at all filthy," I say referring to a comment I made nearly a year ago when I first chatted with her mom on the phone.

The space is modern and sleek, and I wonder if she pointed to a picture on the West Elm website and told the salesperson that was exactly what she wanted. There are a few personal touches here and there that make it seem comfortably lived in.

"I love it."

"It's not the White House, but it'll do." She walks into the kitchen. "Want anything to drink?"

"No thanks." I pick up a framed picture of her and her mom. "How old were you here?"

She returns to the living room with a glass of water. "Ten or eleven, I think. We'd just moved to California and my mom took me to see the Golden Gate Bridge."

"It's beautiful," I comment.

She hands me a silver frame. "Here's a more recent photo of us."

"You always seem happy when you're with your mom."

Alex smiles. "I am."

We walk around the living room and she tells me stories about the knickknacks she bought on her travels.

I catch my reflection in a mirror. "I forgot I still had this wig on."

"Leave it." She touches my hand as I'm about to remove it. "I'm thinking some very kinky role play thoughts right about now."

"Are you?" I grin.

She reaches for me. "We're having this clandestine affair and you have to be in costume."

I string my arms over her shoulders. "Go on."

She nibbles on my ear, moving her lips down the column of my neck. "And we have to be super quiet so no one will know we're together."

Even though everything she's saying is true, it sounds erotic especially in her deep, seductive voice.

"I'm going to do things to your body that will make you want to moan." She unbuttons my blouse. "Or scream with pleasure, but you can't."

That causes me to moan, which in turn, causes Alex to smirk. She's in full control here and she knows it. I wonder how exhilarating it must feel to know that the President of the United States is like putty in her hands—whatever she says, I'll obey.

She backs me up until my back hits a wall fairly hard and presses her lips to mine. She removes my shirt and makes quick work on my bra. I let her have her way with me, loving every minute of Alex being in the position of power. As she crawls down my body, she pulls my slacks off until they pool at my feet. Rather than take my underwear off, she pulls it to the side and starts licking me.

I slam my eyes shut. "Fuck, Alex."

"You have to be quiet," she says between nibbles on my clit.

"I don't know if I can." I bite my lower lip and look down at her eating me. "Fuck, _fuck_…" A forceful orgasm courses through me and I feel something odd happening. I look down and notice I'm squirting. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry." She looks at me with awe. "That's so fucking hot." Alex slithers back up my body and kisses me again, pulling off my wig.

I taste myself on her and kind of like it. She walks us back to her bedroom, which I've yet to see, and maneuvers us onto the queen bed, removing my heels and fully taking off my pants.

"That's never happened to me," I admit, still feeling self-conscious.

"It's female ejaculation," she explains, going down on me again. "It means you had a powerful orgasm. Knowing that_ I_ made you do it is an extreme turn on."

"Mmm," I moan as she continues her ministrations on my pussy. "You make me feel so good."

Alex has mentioned before how much she loves going down on me, and while I love it, I have a strong desire to return the favor.

"Can we…?" I start flipping my body around.

She takes off her dress in one motion, quickly followed by her bra and boyshorts. Just seeing her in her underwear is enough to make me get riled up again. Alex turns completely around, scooting her body closer to mine as I roll onto my side. We've never done 69 but now seems like the right time to try. It's just as stimulating for me to hear her moan when I lick her as it is to have her tongue inside me. The sounds we're making and the feeling of her cool tongue on my clit makes me explode for the second time in 20 minutes. She doesn't remove her mouth from my center, ensuring that I completely finish before ending her ministrations.

After I come down from such a high, I flip her over and dive between her legs. I touch her outer lips gently before replacing my finger with my tongue. I shove two fingers deep inside her, twisting them while keeping my mouth in place. Alex is not quiet when she cums. In fact, I have to tell her to stop screaming before the Secret Service busts in.

"Seriously, Al. You have to be quieter." I wipe my mouth on my arm, and then crawl up her body.

"It's so fucking hard when you do that," she chuckles while still panting. "Can you imagine if they busted through the door?"

"I never want that to happen," I say with a straight face. "The one time it happened was when Larry got shot. It's not funny."

"I'm sorry." She twists her head on the pillow, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I took it too far."

"It's ok." I kiss her cheek. "This is dangerous enough as it is, and while it's partially exhilarating, it's also real."

"I know, babe." She kisses my nose.

"It doesn't mean we can't ramp up the hotness every once in a while," I say. "But you can't orgasm that loudly when we're in a foreign space."

She covers her mouth, and I know she's trying to stifle a laugh. "Ok."

"You know I love it when you're loud in the privacy of my residence." I lay my head on her chest and trace patterns on her flat stomach. "Sometimes I'm embarrassed to face Agent Spencer when I step outside my bedroom after we have sex."

Alex caresses my arm. "She's known about us since the start."

"Thank God Secret Service agents don't talk."

"Seriously. We'd be in big fucking trouble."

We shift in the bed, and Alex pulls the sheets higher.

"Everything about tonight was spectacular," I say, kissing the crook between her neck and chest. "And I'm so glad I finally got to see your place."

"Me, too." She smiles. "I'm afraid this might be the only time though."

"I know," I sigh. "Which is too bad, because I love it."

"I can't wait for the day when we don't have to sneak around," she admits.

A little sound escapes my throat. "Same."

We drift off to sleep in each other's arms, and I go to sleep with thoughts of when we can finally be together.

* * *

Alex and I don't see each other for two weeks leading up to the convention. I'm busy prepping for my speech as well as responding to presidential business as usual and Alex is traveling on behalf of the CSGV. We talk every night, and she tells me about the conversations she has on the road. Every person she encounters asks her about our relationship. Although she toes the line, she admits it's getting frustrating to deflect their questions. What she wants to say—what_ I_ want to say—is that we're two women who have fallen in love despite our professional circumstances.

Two days before the convention, Alex checks into the hotel under a pseudonym and has a room on the same floor as mine. That is to say that no one other than authorized personnel can get to the 22nd floor by elevator or stairs. It's home to the presidential suite and three other regular hotel rooms—one for Eileen, one for Warren and one for Alex. I didn't ask if we could share a room, because I know what the answer would've been, but I have no intention of sleeping in a different bed than my girlfriend while we're here. I went along with her having her own room not only to appease my staff, but also because my suite will have staffers coming in and out all day. Alex will appreciate the privacy of having her own room.

I'm forced to attend some of the early convention speeches and pretend like it's just another day, but I'm trembling inside. I _want_ to tell the public about Alex, but the thought of it makes me incredibly nervous. The scrutiny I'll be under is like nothing I've ever been through, and while my staff does everything they can to prepare me for the outcome, I'm still anxious. I attend the swanky parties and receptions with my senior staff, but at ten o'clock, I'm ready to call it a night…and to see Alex.

"We've changed the last line of the second paragraph." Warren follows me to my suite, handing me a new version of my speech. "I think you'll find it's more in your voice."

"I liked the last version." I take it from him. "But I'll review it in the morning."

Eileen is by my side. "Why not now?"

I stop in front of my hotel door. "Because I want to spend an hour with Alex and then go to sleep."

Eileen lowers her head. I know she'd prefer that I work for another hour rather than spend time Alex, but she won't win this one.

"I'll be ready to meet at seven o'clock in the morning," I say, opening the door. "Good night and thank you for all your work today."

Warren nods. "Good night, Madam President."

I pull out my cell phone and text Alex: _Done for the night. Come to my room?_

She texts back a few minutes later: _Yeah. Anyone else there_?

_No_, I write, tossing my phone onto the bed. I unbutton my blouse and kick off my shoes, thankful to get off my feet. I must've walked 20,000 steps today and smiled about the same number of times. My body aches, my feet hurt, and my cheeks feel all stretched out.

I hear a knock on the door.

"You can let her in, Agent Spencer," I call.

Alex steps inside wearing drawstring sweats and a t-shirt. "I hope casual is alright."

"It is." I smile as I make my way towards her, stringing my arms around her neck. "I've missed you."

"Me, too." She kisses me through a smile of her own. "_So_, so much."

There's an art to kissing Alex. Her head angles perfectly and her tongue teases my lips before entering my mouth slowly—_softly_. She bunches the material of my blouse in her hands and I snarl my hands in her thick hair.

"Done working for the night?" she asks between kisses.

"Mmm hmm."

Her fingertips trail up my side. "How was your day?"

"Busy. Too much smiling." I change angles to kiss her deeper. "You?"

She pulls back, grinning. "Too much smiling?"

I nod.

"It's tough being President," she teases through a light laugh.

I playfully pinch her. "It is."

"Well, I'm sure all those people feel a little more special after being on the other end of one of your smiles."

"That's a nice thing to say." I drag her to the bed.

"I mean it."

I lay down without pulling the sheets back. "I'm exhausted."

She runs a hand down the back of my head. "Let me give you a rub down."

"You don't have to do that," I say, removing my blouse.

"I want to." She kisses my temple. "Nothing sexual—just a little massage to loosen your aching muscles."

I roll onto my stomach and shimmy out of my slacks.

Her first sweeping motion down my back feels amazing. She adds a little pressure and starts kneading my skin. When she reaches my shoulders, I moan. "Ohmygod, Alex." I think I'm drooling.

"Good?"

"Mmm hmm."

She keeps massaging my body, and before I know it, I fall fast asleep. I don't realize how long I've been asleep until something makes me stir.

"What time is it?" I brush wispy strands of hair out of my eyes and blink at the clock. "Two in the morning?"

"Mmm?"

I twist my neck and notice Alex is in bed with me. "What happened?"

"I'm sleeping," she replies in a groggy voice.

"I can see that, but what happened before we fell asleep?"

"I gave you a massage, and like five minutes into it, you dozed off," she mutters with her eyes still shut. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Oh." I lay my head back on the pillow. "In that case, I guess we better go back to sleep."

"Yes, please." She tosses her arm over my waist, and I scoot back into her.

"Good night, Al."

"Night, babe."

* * *

The next morning I wake up feeling more refreshed than I thought I would. Alex is already up and out of bed.

I prop myself on my elbows. "Why are you up so early?"

"Morning," she says as she makes coffee in the small, generic coffee maker. "I haven't been awake for long. Coffee?"

"God, yes." I lay back down and pull the covers over me.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Good. I was out like a light." I sniff. "You?"

She pours creamer into the two white mugs. "I'm glad. You were snoring."

"I don't snore!" I complain.

"You do, actually," she chuckles, walking over to me. "It's more of a weird throat thing."

"Why didn't you say something the other hundred or so times we've slept together?"

Alex kisses my lips. "I don't remember it happening before."

"Maybe I do it when I'm _that_ tired," I suggest.

"Maybe." She smiles down at me. "I'm going to get out of your way this morning."

"You're never in my way," I offer. "I hope you know that."

Her gentle smile makes me believe she _does_ know it. "Today is a big day for you—for us. It's best if you work with your team to make sure you feel confident about the speech."

I reach for her, tugging her leg until she's sitting on the edge of the bed. "You know where you're sitting?"

She nods. "Second row at the end."

"Edwin will be next to you and Vince Booker next to him," I say, rubbing the back of her hand. "Blake will be directly in front of you, so if you need anything, get his attention."

"I know." She brings my hand to her lips. "Warren went over all this with me yesterday."

"Good." I place my hand on her thigh. "You're joining me at the reception afterwards?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Ok." I sit up, kissing her firmly. "It's going to be a great day."

"It will be." Her lips tug up. "And you're going to nail it."

"I hope so," I sigh before getting out of bed.

She pours two cups of coffee. "You've practiced at least an hour a day for the last two weeks. You'll be great."

I take a cup from her, but before sipping the coffee, I lean up to kiss her once more. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Madam President."


	14. Chapter 14

There's a ton of pomp and circumstance at the Democratic National Convention, and while I find some of it exciting and even motivational, my stomach has been doing somersaults all day. I skip listening to the opening speaker to practice my speech one final time, but I have to be back in the auditorium for the last speaker before I take the stage. My Vice-President gives a poignant speech, riling up the already energetic crowd.

The chair of the DNC starts his speech with accolades about me, and I wait behind the curtain with Eileen, Warren and Jane. My palms are sweating, and I feel lightheaded. I haven't been afraid of public speaking my entire life, but the weight of this moment feels different—_consequential_.

As I pace backstage, licking my lips and practicing keeping my chin up, Eileen approaches me. I ignore her at first, and then she stands in front of me, preventing me from walking forward.

"Look at me, Piper." I can count on one hand the number of times Eileen has used my first name since I became President. "You are the best President this country has seen in more than 60 years. That means for three quarters of the audience, you're the best President they've had in their lifetime."

I see where this is going—she's trying to give me a pep talk.

"I believe in _everything_ you stand for and everything you do," she continues. "And that includes fighting to be with the person you love."

I blink a few times. I certainly didn't expect her to go this route.

"I've given you a hard time about Alex because my goal is to ensure you're leading our country in the right direction without any distractions. I thought you were pretty damn good at your job before you met her, but I can say with utter certainty that _Alex Vause makes you a better person_." Her voice trembles as she stares into my eyes. "I am very, _very_ proud of you, Piper Chapman. Go get 'em."

My eyes burn with unshed tears as I hear the Chairman call my name.

Warren taps my shoulder, interrupting this very special moment with my Chief of Staff. "It's time, Madam President."

I nod, quickly hug Eileen, and then walk onto that stage like I just won the lottery. As I wait for the cheers to subside, I spot Alex in the second row. She's giving me the most beautiful, genuine smile, and I know why I was put on this earth—it has nothing to do with politics.

"Are we ready for another four years?" I ask into the microphone.

That causes an uproar for another few minutes.

"Thank you. Thank you…"

The crowd starts chanting _four more years_, and I'm about as pumped as I've ever been.

"Thank you all." I list a long string of names who I have to formally thank for their service to our country before finally saying, "Mr. Chairman, delegates, I graciously accept your nomination for President of the United States."

Another round of applause ensues, and another three minutes passes before I can begin my speech.

"When I stood on a very similar stage four years ago, I was filled with pride, hope and optimism. As a nation we've seen joy, triumph, tragedy and everything in between. I didn't know the best of humanity until I became President and witnessed the way our nation bands together through it all. The President of Iran has made choices that caused some of our troops—the finest men and women in the world—to face life and death situations. Mother nature has wreaked havoc on the Gulf Coast and in Southern California. Innocent people have been murdered by gun violence, including my own husband." I pause for a moment of reverence. "Yet here we stand, united as one nation."

The crowd cheers even louder.

"Many voters have been distracted by trivial things which is often at the expense of paying attention to bigger issues—issues I promised I'd address when I first took office. I have not and _will_ not back down from those promises. But Ian Mayfield and right-wing conservatives have tried to divert our attention from the things that matter most by fixating on inconsequential things. We're too smart for that—_you're_ too smart for that."

The audience roars and starts up another _four more years_ chant, but I only allow a few verses before holding up a hand.

"My fellow Americans, I have two questions for you. I'll get to both in time, but for now, think about the people you love most in this world. Go on, I'll give you a second." I pause. "Now, imagine being told that just because you love that person or those people, you are unfit to do your job. You get fired for loving someone. Does that seem fair, right or just?"

There's a mixture of people actually answering the question aloud.

"I have spent the past four years striving to make this country, _our_ country, a better place. Because of my bi-partisan work with state governors, I've decreased homelessness by nearly 60 percent. I've passed a healthcare bill that serves all Americans and allows each of you to have a choice about who provides your medical care. In coordination with the Department of Homeland Security, I've streamlined the path towards citizenship and have cut the time it takes for people who want—who _deserve_—a better life to be legal citizens of our great nation. And finally, with the members of Congress, I've passed the most sweeping gun control laws in history and have cut the number of mass shootings in half."

If I thought the crowd was boisterous before, that's nothing compared to now.

"We still have a long way to go. The conflict in Iran is far from over. There's an opioid crisis and I need to work with state and local officials to combat addiction. The trade wars with China are ongoing. Climate change continues to be an issue not just for our country but for people all over the world. My work is not done. It is my goal, my _job_, to fix these looming problems and to continue what I started four years ago."

I take a sip of water and let the audience root me on.

"Earlier I mentioned trivial distractions that Republicans incessantly bring up that seem to fascinate some people. This fixation on my personal life has been mildly annoying, though it hasn't sidetracked me from doing my job," I begin. "The looming question seems to be if I'm in a same-sex relationship. How that's anyone's business, I'll never know."

There's some hooting and hollering, but nothing like a few moments ago.

I glance at Alex before diving into the most personal and difficult part of my speech. She winks at me, sending a different kind of butterflies to my stomach. I am _privileged_ to be on the other side of her love. That thought allows me to continue with confidence.

"As you know, my husband, Larry Bloom, was murdered by an AK-47 assault rifle in a drive-by shooting. We were supposed to go to the Correspondent's Dinner that night…Larry's favorite event." I pause and smile faintly at the memory. "To say I was devastated when I lost my husband is an understatement. I didn't know if I had the strength to go on, and that's not something the President of the United States _gets to feel_. It's a shame, isn't it? That I couldn't grieve for my husband the way any other person in our country could. Then I realized that showing emotions didn't make me weak. All too often we don't allow ourselves to _feel_, and I worry, especially about boys in our country, that they're being told that expressing emotions makes them seem weak. I'm standing her tonight to tell everyone out there, including all of you boys: _showing emotion make us stronger_."

The audience cheers again.

"Once I realized that—_believed_ that—I went back to work, determined to make the United States a safer place. I vowed to change our gun laws so that no other woman had to be a widow to gun violence before the age of 50."

Again, the crowd claps and hollers.

"In finding a way to secure the votes for sweeping gun reform that would be acceptable to _both_ sides of the aisle, my team enlisted the help of Alex Vause."

By now, everyone in the room certainly knows who Alex is, and the audience goes wild at the mention of her name. I'm sure the cameras pan to her so the people at home can see.

"I'd never met her, though I'd worked with the good people at the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence since my days as a Senator. I walked into the Roosevelt Room while she was trying to convince my staff to allow her to help us secure the votes, and I don't know if I'd ever heard someone speak with such conviction and eloquence as Ms. Vause did that day." I pause, look down, and then back up again, feeling a smile cross my face as I mention her name. "As _Alex _did that day."

There's much more applause than moments ago.

"As time went on, we became closer. I was interested in her opinions not just about gun control but also about _normal_ things like if I looked good in a pair of jeans or if the latest Dan Brown thriller was worth all the hype. It was, by the way." I wait for the applause to die down. "And somewhere in the middle of all the politics and all the _normalcy_, I fell in love with her." I pause once more. "That should answer any lingering questions about my personal life."

The thunderous cheers are so deafening I wish I had earbuds to protect my hearing. I expected applause, but this is next level. I'm thrilled that part of my speech is over, and I couldn't have asked for a better reception.

"At the beginning of this speech, I told you I had two questions. I've already asked the first, and so now I pose the second. No matter what your political affiliation may be, ask yourself: Has President Chapman been an effective leader of our great nation? If you look at my record which includes decreasing homelessness, providing choices in healthcare, streamlining the process for citizenship, and drastically cutting the number of mass shootings; I think the answer is a resounding _yes_. Give me another four years to finish what I started. Thank you, God bless you and God bless these United States."

I wait a few minutes for the cheers to die down, though they never do, thanking the crowd for their support over and over again, before exiting the stage.

Eileen, Warren and Jane are all smiling widely, so I assume I delivered the speech as they'd hoped.

"You knocked it out of the park!" Warren gives me a high five.

"That was outstanding, ma'am," Jane adds.

"I couldn't have asked for anything better," Eileen beams. "You were firm when you needed to be, lighthearted when the moment called for it and confident when you delivered the part about Alex. Very well done, indeed."

Eileen has been my toughest critic, so for her to say those kind things sends my spirits soaring. I hug her, thanking her for the compliment and for her comments about Alex before I went on stage. As soon as I release her, I spot Alex walking up the steps backstage. As she proceeds towards me in her tailored suit, I make my way towards her and we meet in the middle, wrapping our arms around each other.

"You killed it up there, babe," she says, lips pressed against my ear.

I pull back. "You really think so?"

She nods, kissing me firmly. "I do."

"Seeing you in the audience put me at ease," I admit with my hand on her chest. "Thank you for being here."

She smiles. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"Now I guess we wait and see what the rest of the country thinks," I sigh.

Alex takes my hands in hers. "No matter what they think, you nailed it. You couldn't have delivered anything more poignant."

"I have to agree." Eileen approaches us. "Allow me to thank you, Ms. Vause, for going along with our plan. I know it mustn't have been easy to keep your relationship under wraps, but we greatly appreciate your patience and understanding."

Instead of directing her attention to Eileen, she looks at me, bringing my hand to her lips. "I'd do anything for this woman."

I hug Alex again, basking in the feel of her warm embrace and relishing in the familiar scent of her.

"We have a party to attend," I announce through a smile.

"Yes, we do," Eileen responds. "Why don't you go back to the hotel, change into your party attire, and we'll meet in your suite in about 45 minutes?"

"Sounds good." I take Alex's hand and walk with her toward the exit.

"I assume I'm coming with you," she states.

"You are."

One of the Secret Service agents speaks into his wrist that I'm on my way, and before long, Alex and I are in the back seat of the black sedan being whisked away.

"I should probably text Edwin," she says.

I slide closer to her, wiggling my way under her arm until I'm satisfied with our proximity. "Did he enjoy my speech?"

"I think so." She tucks her phone away after texting him. "I can't imagine any Democrat not liking your speech."

"I don't even want to know what the Republicans are saying."

"Don't worry about them tonight," Alex suggests. "I want you to enjoy this evening, this party, and bask in your success for the rest of the night."

"I promise I'll try." I squeeze her hand that's dangling from my shoulder. "But I don't think my team will allow me to ignore what the opposition is saying all night."

"Well then promise you won't let them bring you down."

I reach up to kiss her jawline. "I won't."

* * *

We arrive in my hotel suite and both of us kick off our heels.

"You look stunning, by the way," I say.

"So do you," she smiles. "Radiant even."

"But right now, I want you naked."

She looks surprised. "Piper!"

"What?" I begin unbuttoning her blouse, turned on as ever by the way she fills out a suit.

"I wasn't expecting to have sex with our limited time alone," she offers through a laugh.

My hand slowly moves to cup her breast. "You thought wrong."

"In that case," she stops speaking to kiss me. "I don't mind being wrong."

We shed each other of our clothing and stumble to the bed, hands never leaving each other's body. She kisses a path down my chest to my stomach and then my center, but I don't want her to go down on me first; I want that privilege.

"I want to do you." I tug her by the arms, but my force isn't strong enough to make her obey.

"And I want to do you." She cocks an eyebrow. "Maybe we should try simultaneous stimulation?"

"It worked last time."

I position my body sideways while Alex moves to accommodate me.

"Oh, God," I say, remembering why I liked it so much before.

Alex moans. Just like last time, the sounds we're making are enough to get me off, but I want her to cum first. I open her pussy and stick my tongue inside, focusing on her sensitive nub. She moans again, pulling my center closer with both hands on my ass. Just the thought of what we're doing to each other turns me on, and I can't control what's about to happen.

I touch myself with my head still buried between her legs. "Alex, I'm…I'm…" I try licking her through the orgasm, and her hips start bucking. I know she's close. "Cum for me, Alex."

An orgasm overtakes her body, causing her to squeeze my head with her thighs. I still manage to tap her clit with my tongue and listen to her cries intensify. When she finally finishes, we lie breathlessly on the mattress, holding each other in sort of an upside down embrace.

"Holy shit," Alex comments. "I don't know what you did at the end, but _fuck_."

"That was incredible," I say, turning around until we're face to face.

I kiss her. "I love you so much."

She pulls back, rubbing my cheek. "I love you, too, Piper."

We relax in each other's arms for a few more minutes, but both of us know time is of the essence. My staff will be knocking on the door in 15 minutes, and I have to wash the smell of sex off my body. Alex offers to shower with me, but we know where that would lead. Instead, I kiss her soundly and walk her to the door.

I smile up at her. "I can't wait to walk into the party with you on my arm."

"Same." She kisses me one final time, and then disappears down the hallway.

Instead of taking a shower and risk getting my hair wet, I settle for a quick bath. As I'm drying off, I hear a knock on my door. I thought I had enough time to recover from my sexual escapade, but I'm about to get caught. I slip into a robe and venture into the bedroom, thankful that I opened the windows in case the room has an odd scent.

"Come in."

Eileen, Warren, Blake and Jane enter the sitting area.

"Did you just take a shower?" Eileen looks confused.

"A bath. I was feeling a little sticky," I try.

Jane seems to be the only one to pick up on what I'm trying to conceal. Her lips quirk to the side.

"What's the media saying?" I ask, walking back into the bathroom to get dressed.

"The liberal news outlets are signing your praise, and the conservative ones are calling you a whore," Eileen says not mincing words.

"A whore?" I snort. "How does being in love with a woman make me a whore?"

Warren shrugs. "They're pulling at strings. We have our allies reaching out to Fox News as we speak to defend you."

"I'm worried less about them," Eileen replies. "And more about what Ian Mayfield is going to turn this into."

"We expected this," Warren says. "There's no need for us to be alarmed; at least not yet."

"I'm going to do a press briefing first thing tomorrow morning," Jane chimes in. "I'll set the record straight and ensure everyone is on the same page."

"Sounds good." I slip into my glittery designer gown. "I want to enjoy this evening for what it's worth, so unless there's a crisis I need to tend to, let's celebrate tonight."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Although my speech was one of the biggest moments of my political career, walking into the Democratic reception with Alex on my arm is one of my biggest personal moments.

I greet her at her hotel door, and it feels kind of like I'm picking her up for our first date.

"Hello, Madam President," she says with a toothy grin. "You clean up nicely."

"So do you." I reach for her. "Armani?"

"It felt like an Armani kind of day," she replies, taking my hand. "Ready?"

"Ready."

We walk down the hallway, enter the elevator and head to the hotel ballroom that is already packed with enthusiastic Democratic guests. As soon as I step inside, the cheers begin. I raise my free hand, waving and offering my thanks. My other hand is strung through Alex's bent arm, and she's rubbing my knuckles. I wonder if she's nervous. Warren instructed her to simply smile and be herself. There aren't supposed to be any reporters in the room, but if she gets asked questions about our relationship, she's free to echo the words from my speech—_we're in love_.

I lean closer. "You ok?"

"Yeah." She nods. "I'm just not used to being the center of attention."

"I hope you get used to it." I rub a smudge just below her lip.

She smiles.

I make my way to the stage to say a few rounds of thank you's, which means I have to let go of Alex for the time being. I intend to stay close by her side the entire night, though I know I'll get pulled in different directions as many Democratic leaders will want a minute of my time.

All in all, it's a joyous night. I get more congratulatory handshakes than expected, and many of the guests applaud me for standing up to be with the woman I love. The outcry of support is more than I could've hoped for.

About an hour into the party, I catch up with Alex who I've been separated from for at least 20 minutes.

"I thought I'd never find you," I say.

She smiles. "I didn't expect to be so popular tonight."

I give her a look. "I just told the world I'm in love with you. Didn't you suspect that would make you kind of a big deal?"

"I guess." She blushes.

I hold out my hand. "Now, will you dance with me, Ms. Vause?"

"I'd be honored."

We don't even walk to the dance floor; instead, Alex pulls me into her arms right there and starts swaying to _Come Away with Me_. It's amazing how quickly I can get lost in her. This dance feels nothing like the only other one we shared; it's far more natural. I don't care who's staring at us or who might snap a photograph; I'm dancing with the woman I love and savoring every second.

"This is nice," I whisper in her ear.

She squeezes me. "It is."

"The sex a few hours ago was also nice," I add, feeling particularly bold.

She tucks her chin back and smirks as if she's shocked by my statement. "Yes, that was nice, too."

"I wouldn't mind recreating that moment later tonight."

"What has gotten into you?" she chuckles.

"I'm feeling celebratory tonight." I shrug. "Don't question it."

"Yes, ma'am." She tugs me closer as we finish the dance.

We spend the next two hours enjoying the festivities as well as each other's company, and for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to be jubilant without caring who has their eyes on me.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Thank you for still reading and for the reviews! There are two reasons I've been posting much later in the day than usual. First, I'm traveling for work and it's difficult to find time to login to this site to post the next chapter. Second, writing speeches is difficult, and I wanted to make sure in the previous chapter as well as this one that I got it right. I think there will be another two chapters until the end—I haven't broken the pages down yet.

* * *

I roll over in bed the next morning and bump into Alex. It takes me a second to remember where I am and how we ended up in my hotel bed together. Shortly before midnight, we left the party, which was still going strong, in favor of getting some sleep. Over the past few weeks, we've both been physically and mentally exhausted. Just because Alex didn't have to stand in front of a large audience and deliver a speech doesn't make her any less relieved than I am that the stress of the last several months is over.

Neither of us is dumb enough to think everything will be coming up roses now that I've officially announced we're a couple—that will hardly be the case. Now the Republicans have fuel for their fire, and I have no doubt they'll use this against me. One thing I know for certain: I'll never deny my feelings for Alex again.

"Morning." She stretches, revealing the arch of her perfect breasts. "How long have you been awake?"

"Good morning." I toss one leg over hers. "Not long. How'd you sleep?"

She caresses my back. "Well. You?"

"Fine," I reply. "But I'm ready to be back in my own bed."

"True, but that also means getting back to reality," she sighs.

I rub her arm. "At least we're on the other side of this whole thing now."

"Thank God."

"It's almost eight," I announce, rolling over and looking at the clock. "I'm sure my staff will be at my door any minute."

"Is that your way of telling me to leave?"

"No." I return to her arms. "As long as we're not talking about classified stuff, you can be in the room."

"Should we have a secret signal for when I need to leave?" she jokes. "Maybe you can touch the side of your nose or rub your chin."

I giggle. "Something tells me we won't need a secret signal."

"Eileen?"

I nod. "Yep."

As much as I'd love to stay in bed with Alex all morning, I'm sure there are pressing things I need to do since I didn't technically 'work' all day yesterday.

I turn on the television and toss the remote control to Alex as I stumble out of bed to use the bathroom.

"You're going to want to see this," she calls.

"What is it?"

"Ian Mayfield is about to speak on Fox News."

"Fuck. Here we go."

My phone rings and my mobile phone vibrates. I go back into the bedroom and pick up the hotel phone. Sure enough, it's Warren telling me what Alex just discovered.

"You can come to my room," I say before hanging up. "But Alex is here, and unless we need to talk about something she can't hear, she's staying."

"Yes, ma'am."

I toss a hotel robe to her. "Put this on."

She swings her legs over the edge of the mattress. "I should go."

"I don't want you to leave." I stand between her legs. "My staff is going to have to get used to you being around."

She places her hands on my hips. "You mean we might be able to have more than one sleepover per week?"

I kiss her forehead. "God, I hope so."

Alex stands, kissing me once more and then searches for her underwear.

I bend down and pick up the dark blue, lacy panties. "Looking for these?"

She grins, snatching them from me.

I scrunch my face. "You're going to put on your dirty underwear?"

"Eww, no!" she chuckles. "I just wanted to make sure they weren't lying around when Eileen walks in."

"Could you imagine her face?" I shrug into a pair of jeans.

Alex continues laughing. "I don't want to imagine it."

I grab a striped shirt out of the dresser drawer and tug it over my head. "I'm going to call down for some coffee and breakfast."

She comes up behind me, kissing the side of my neck. "I'm going to go put on some real clothes."

"And then you're coming back, right?"

"Yes." She kisses me once more, and then secures the robe before walking out. "Be right back."

No sooner is Alex gone than my team walks down the hallway. Surely they saw her leave my room.

"Good morning, Madam President," Jane greets me. "After we watch the Mayfield segment, I'm going down for the press briefing."

Warren and Eileen file in after her.

"Is anyone able to tape this?" I ask.

"We'll have the footage within the hour," Warren states, sitting on the arm of a wingback chair.

Eileen sits on the sofa, while Jane remains standing.

"Alex is coming back," I announce. "We want to watch Mayfield make a fool out of himself together."

"We're going to have to work on some protocol for when Ms. Vause is spending time with you," Eileen says. She holds up a hand. "I'm not saying you can't spend time together, ma'am, but we'll just need to discuss how this is going to work."

"None of us have worked for a President who has a girlfriend," Warren adds with a shrug. "New territory."

"As long as you're not going to dictate when I can see Alex or how much time we spend together, we can talk," I respond. "Those are off the table."

"Yes, ma'am."

The news reporter comes on the air, introducing Ian Mayfield IV with so much praise it's nauseating. The man hasn't accomplished much other than making billions of dollars in the oil industry.

"_Happy to be here, Susan," Mayfield says in his thick Texas accent._

"_What do you make of the President's speech at the DNC?"_

Alex walks in just in time. She stands next to me as we focus on the television.

"_I knew she was a lesbian all along," he proudly states. "I don't know many straight people who choose to hang out with the gays."_

"Is he fucking kidding?" Alex asks incredulously.

"_She hid her sexuality from the American people because she knows it's flat-out wrong. It's immoral and unethical, and the President of the United States should be neither of those things. Simply put, President Chapman chose to deny she's a lesbian because she knew she'd lose votes."_

"_In the latest poll, it appears that voters are split about re-electing her," the reporter says._

"_That poll was conducted by a bunch of liberals and it was before yesterday's speech," he answers. "I pay no mind to those numbers. Matter of fact, I've heard there are other polls going out this week that will give us a better idea of just how many votes Ms. Chapman lost because of her lesbian ways and because she lied to the public."_

"When did I lie?" I ask no one in particular.

"_Now that her sexuality has been revealed," the report states. "Would you like to move up the debate that's scheduled six weeks from now?"_

"_Hell yes, I would, Susan. In fact, I'm ready to go after her right now."_

I fold my arms. "Bring it on, you son of a bitch."

"_Hopefully you'll get your chance sooner rather than later," Susan states. "Let's turn it back to Adam who's still in Tampa at the convention."_

I glance at Eileen. "If Mayfield wants to push up the debate, I'm all for it."

"I can't even count the number of holes in his argument," Alex says through a confident laugh. "This would be an easy win for the President."

If I had time to reflect on Alex referring to me as the President, I'd marvel at how easy it has become over the past year for her to switch gears on a dime. In the early stages of our relationship, I wondered if that would ever be possible.

"It's been more than four years since your last debate, ma'am," Eileen states. "While I agree that you could hold your own in a debate a week from now, we have to prepare much longer than that."

I shake my head. "I don't want to wait six weeks."

"How about four?" Warren asks. "I'm sure we could have you ready by then."

"Can we make it three?" I ask.

Eileen stands firm. "If you give us four weeks to work with you, Mayfield won't want to debate you again before the election."

"You were on the debate team in college." I nod in Alex's direction. "Feel like helping out a friend?"

She smirks. "I serve at the pleasure of the President."

_Yeah, you do_. How am I turned on, I wonder, by a mere sentence?

"I'll work with Mayfield's team to get something in place." Warren stands. "Meanwhile, we have some confidential business to discuss."

"That's my cue." Alex runs a hand down my arm. "See you later?"

I kiss her on the cheek. "See you in DC later tonight."

As breakfast gets wheeled in, Alex leaves, and I insist she take a plate of eggs and bacon. I meet with my team for the next hour in the hotel suite before departing on Air Force One just before noon.

* * *

I spend the next three weeks practicing my rusty debate skills, and I'm thankful for Alex's help. Not only is she a talented debater, but she knows a hell of a lot of statistics and information about the LGBTQ community. Although she's not leading my debate prep, that job belongs to Gloria Mendoza, Alex is holding her own with some of the best coaches in the country.

For the first time since we became a couple, we spend three nights in a row together; however, just as I'm starting to get used to waking up with her by my side, I have to attend the governor's convention in Illinois for a couple nights. She takes that time to wrap up a few projects she'd been working on, handing them off to another CSGV lobbyist while Alex takes a leave of absence.

At first, she was reluctant to temporarily leave a job she loves, but after hearing from Vince Booker and Edwin Nowak along with my team, she understands that _now_ is the right time to step out of the public spotlight until after the election. That frees Alex up to work with me on debate prep, so at least she's still working in the political arena. I offered to give her a stipend for the work she's doing for me, but she graciously refused, indicating that she "does quite well" and has enough money saved to not take a hit with this impermanent leave.

The week before the first debate, I go head to head with a variety of people pretending to be Ian Mayfield in practice sessions. I only "lose" once when my temper flares after "the fake Mayfield" (played by Blake) calls Alex a _greedy lesbian with political ambitions_.

"You can't lose your cool," Warren says. "He'll pounce."

"I know," I sigh. "Let's try again."

We go over the name-calling again that day as well as the following day. By the third day of Alex being called horrible things in these mock debates, I have my act together enough to stay calm and focused even if the real Mayfield slanders her.

Eileen smiles. "I think you're ready."

* * *

We travel to Atlanta the day before the debate, which will be held at Emory University. I'm able to get the lay of the land and practice one more time on the real stage. Blake, my Deputy Communications Director, has been the best opponent throughout practice, so he goes against me one final time. I stumble a few times, making me nervous about the real thing that'll happen tomorrow night.

"Stop worrying about it," Alex says when we're alone in our hotel room. "Give yourself the night off."

"I couldn't stop thinking about it if I tried," I sigh.

She saunters over to me. "I might be able to help with that." She pushes my hair aside, kissing my neck.

"Mmm, that feels nice."

I'm a slave to her touch. Sure enough, my mind is no longer occupied with thoughts of Ian Mayfield. Alex keeps me _busy_ for nearly three hours, and I don't complain one bit. By the last round, I'm so tired I fall asleep naked on top of the sheets and don't wake up until morning.

* * *

The evening of the big debate, I arrive at the auditorium ready for battle. I am as prepared as I'll ever be, and I can't think of a single thing Mayfield could throw at me that I can't handle. Chuck Todd from _Meet the Press_ will moderate, and with his demeanor, I have a good feeling about it being a fair match.

"You've got this, babe." Alex kisses me. "Remember, if you get stuck, take a couple seconds to just breathe."

I nod.

She hugs me. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

I spend ten minutes with Gloria Mendoza, Stephanie Horowitz and my team before taking the stage and facing Mayfield. With his white hair and the way he's hunched over, Mayfield looks older in person than he actually is, which is still in his late 60s. As far as optics go, I'm the picture of youth and health.

Chuck Todd states the rules and away we go. The first 20 minutes are uneventful. He talks about how his business experience can help lead the country into a more prosperous decade and how he can end the trade talks with China. I mention my record in the White House and remind voters that I already have a proven track record, whereas Mayfield is full of shallow promises.

Todd doesn't ask a question about my sexuality, but Mayfield finds a way to bring it up, and that's when the fireworks begin.

"I mean, how can Mrs. Chapman decide on the future of our country if she can't decide whether she likes men or women?" Mayfield asks.

The audience is a mixture of claps and boos.

"First of all, Mr. Mayfield, I'm _President_ Chapman and I'd like you to address me as such." Even though those words don't feel comfortable escaping my mouth, my team told me that it's important to establish my credibility any time I have the chance. "I have no trouble deciding who to love. I loved my husband because he was a selfless, humorous, and devoted man. I love Alex because she's a kind and brilliant woman whose moral compass is in tune with my own. I don't care about the person's gender, Mr. Mayfield, I care about what's in their soul."

This time, there's more applause than hissing.

"Ah yes, Ms. Vause…" he starts with an evil laugh. "We all know she's with you for political gain. She's a lobbyist for crying out loud. They don't have souls; they have bank accounts. Who knows who else she might be sleeping with?"

I want to call him a _fucking bigot_, but I take a deep breath and proceed carefully without showing my ruffled feathers. "Alex is a highly respected political operative who made a name for herself _long_ before I entered the picture," I respond. "We met because of her work on the gun control bill, that is true, but she worked both sides of the aisle to secure votes for the most sweeping anti-assault weapons ban this country has ever seen. She has a singular focus in her line of work, so there's literally nothing else I could offer her that she hasn't already accomplished herself." I pause for effect. "As for her sleeping with other people, I can assure you, Alex would never use her charm for political gain. _Ever_."

Again, cheers fill the auditorium. Mayfield hasn't lost his sinister smirk, but he doesn't have a chance to reply before Chuck Todd asks another question.

"President Chapman, in several interviews over the past month, Mr. Mayfield has accused you of being less than transparent about your relationship with Ms. Vause. How do you respond?"

Mayfield holds up his hand. "Excuse me for the interruption, Chuck, but I want to be very clear: I didn't accuse the President of being _less than transparent_." He uses air quotes when finishing his sentence. "I accused her of lying to the public because she didn't want to lose votes. Big difference."

"I have _never_ lied to the public," I state confidently. "No one on my team, including my Press Secretary, Jane Hershberg, has ever lied to the public. When she answered questions from the press about my relationship with the phrase _The White House doesn't comment on the President's personal life_, it was and still remains true. No sitting President has to divulge information about his or her personal life to _anyone_, including the press."

"You were hiding the truth," Mayfield responds. "You didn't tell the citizens of our great nation about your lesbian affair because you knew it would cost you votes. And it has."

"For as brilliant as you claim to be, your word choice is extraordinarily poor. I did not have an _affair_, and I didn't tell Americans about my relationship with Alex because it would've been premature to do so," I state with conviction. "We became friends. I enjoyed spending time with Alex, and the more I got to know her, the more I liked her. That's the way all relationships should begin, Mr. Mayfield—with openness, honesty and respect. When I realized I was falling in love with her, I decided to let the world know how I felt about this spectacular woman. I'd like to think we all search for people who make us strive to be the best version of ourselves, and that's what Alex does—she makes me a better person."

"God does not approve of lesbian activity," he laughs.

"How do you know what God approves of?" I ask. "Did he talk to you in the middle of the night and fill you in on that little secret? What I know about God is that he is the _very essence_ of love. I know you're fond of the Bible so I ask, with whom did Jesus spend the most of his time? People who needed him—the weak and the lowly. I'm not suggesting that people in the LGBTQ community are weak—far from it. What I'm saying is that Jesus showed kindness and an outpouring of love to people who had neither in their lives. I don't know what God you pray to, Mr. Mayfield, but he's not the same one I believe in."

The crowd goes nuts.

"Let's bring this back to the good of our nation," Todd tries. "Mr. Mayfield, if you get elected, how do you plan to regulate the oil industry—an industry that you and your family are so closely tied to?"

This brings us back to politics as usual, and I'm good—no, I'm _great_—at political debate. His tactics don't hold a candle to my knowledge, and everything the man utters I'm able to combat with either the truth or my proven record. I paint him as a greedy businessman with a heart of coal. He tries to paint me as a lying lesbian who doesn't have the country's best interest at heart.

"You each have two minutes for your closing statements," Todd announces. "Mr. Mayfield, you're first."

"I believe in wholesome family values and the truth. Those are my guiding principles in life, but they are not my opponent's. She has lied to American citizens, and she does not understand the value of the union of man and wife. Her homosexual ways are dangerous to our young ones growing up thinking it's ok to be gay. The Lord made men and women to be compatible—to reproduce." He pauses as if he just said something profound. "Ms. Chapman also doesn't have the financial background that I have, and it has cost this country a great deal. I know economics and business, and I can procure a trade deal with China that will benefit working Americans. So if you believe in family values and earning an honest living, you should elect me as the next President."

_What an idiot._

"President Chapman, your turn," Todd says.

"I have accomplished more in four years than any sitting President in my lifetime, and I've only just begun," I begin. "I have decreased homelessness, provided choices in healthcare, streamlined the process for citizenship, and drastically cut the number of mass shootings in our country. I don't make empty promises; _I get the job done_." I pause. "I am thoughtful about every decision I make in my personal life and for the good of our great nation, relying on my ethical backbone and global perspective. I believe in love in all its forms, whether that's a mother loving her child, a husband loving his wife, or two women loving each other. _Love is love_." I glance at Alex who seems to be hanging on my every word. "The reason we haven't made a deal with China yet is because I vowed to bring more jobs to our home front. I believe every American has the right to work in a safe environment and to be paid a fair wage. China doesn't like that about me, and I'm ok with that." I pause once more before finishing. "This country was founded on the principle that _all_ people are created equal—not _some_ people—and we're born with certain God-given rights, including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I stand here before you as a _happy, _fulfilled woman who is thankful for my rights and to serve as President of this country. Thank you for continuing to believe in me and thank you for your vote in November."

"That concludes our first Presidential Debate," Chuck Todd closes. "Thank you and good night."

Mayfield disappears before I have a chance to shake his hand, so I take that moment to lift my shoulders to the crowd, indicating that I was going to be honorable by concluding our debate politely, but Mayfield wants none of it. The audience cheers for me as I step off the stage.

"Nice work," Eileen greets me.

"Are you sure?" I take a glass of water from my aide and suck it down.

"You definitely held your own," Warren says. "There was a poll running at the bottom of the screen on ABC News, indicating who was winning at all points during the debate." He walks over to a television and hits rewind. "I'll show you the whole segment later, but for now look at the blue and red bar graphs on the screen."

I watch the blue band crawl up and hit the 80 percent mark during the first part of the debate. He fast forwards to when the conversation shifted to my relationship with Alex. The graph declines, but it never goes below 50 percent.

"Not bad," I say.

"It ends much the same as it began," Gloria Mendoza states. "You're the clear winner when it comes to governing the country. Mentioning your proven record served you well, and Mayfield drowned when he tried to make promises that the country seems doubtful he can keep."

"He stumbled all over himself when Chuck asked about his self-interest in the oil industry," Eileen adds with a proud huff.

"That was his lowest rated moment—somewhere around 17 percent favorable," Warren says.

Alex jogs up the steps to greet me. "Well done."

"Thanks." I accept her hug, then turn back to my team. "What about the lesbian stuff?"

"You hovered around 52-55 percent," Warren responds. "When you mentioned Jesus, the numbers ticked up another four or five points."

"Good." Alex's caress on my lower back soothes me.

"Is it enough to say I beat him?"

"Looks like it," Gloria replies. "We'll have official numbers in the next half hour."


	16. Chapter 16

Sure enough, I reigned victorious over the elderly homophobe in the debate. Even Fox News has a difficult time trying to prove that I lost. They're still hanging onto my supposed _lies to the press_ and _unwholesome family values_, but the further along we get in the months leading up to the election, the more confident my team feels that I can win—not by a large margin, but enough to get re-elected.

Although Alex is taking her leave of absence from the CSGV, she agrees to go on a site visit to three locations that Blake and Rappaport have identified as possible federal gun shooting ranges near Columbus, Ohio. It'll only be a three-day trip, but this will be the first time since Christmas when _she's_ the one who has to travel while I stay back in DC. It's not like I don't have hundreds of things to do, but I've enjoyed sleeping with her nearly every night since the debate. I don't want to get too far ahead of myself, but I fantasize about the day when she can move in. We have to get through re-election before I can even _mildly_ entertain a first such as that.

Alex calls me from the road as she and Blake finish touring the first facility. It's a rare occurrence when I'm free to take any personal calls (though this one is really business), but as luck would have it, her call comes in the middle of a ten-minute break.

"Hi." I smile into the phone. "How's it going?"

"Hey. Blake's in the car with me." That's Alex's way of telling me we're not alone, so I know this call will be strictly business. "The facility wasn't great—it's really old and would need at least half a million in renovations. The electrical wiring would have to be completely redone and it needs a new roof."

"Doesn't sound promising. Are you headed to the next site now?"

"After we grab lunch," she says. "This one is 10 miles outside of Columbus near an Army Reserve center. From what we've gathered, it's in better shape than the last place."

"Good. How has it been working with Rappaport?"

"He's not as bad as I thought he'd be," she replies. "His assistant has done most of the research, so she's far more knowledgeable than him."

"Not surprising," I say. "If all goes well, I'll have a break around six o'clock. Give me a call then?"

"Sounds good."

As soon as I hang up, Mrs. Willoughby knocks on the door. "Captain Blankenship is here."

"Send him in, please."

The rest of the day goes well with only two minor crises to address. When I finally glance at the clock, I notice it's a little after six, and I haven't heard from Alex. I check with Mrs. Willoughby and Chris to see if I missed her call, and then I check my mobile phone. Nothing. I chalk it up to Alex and Blake spending more time at the second facility than the first. If it looks like a decent deal, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that she and Blake would meet with the Ohio logistics team about architectural design and costs immediately after touring the facility.

I head to a planned dinner with the mayors from Phoenix, Los Angeles, Chicago and Pittsburg and have a more difficult time than expected concentrating on our conversation. I excuse myself before the dessert course to check my phone. Still nothing from Alex. Now I'm wondering if they decided to go straight to dinner after touring the last facility. It's odd that she hasn't at least texted to tell me she'd call later, but of all people, I know sometimes work gets in the way of best intentions.

After dinner, my presence is requested in the Situation Room where I spend half an hour, and then I make my way to the residence to call it a night.

Agent Spencer walks with me. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but I have some news," It's rare that she speaks to me, so my interest is piqued.

"What is it?"

"Agent Paulson is on his way, but I've been asked to tell you that Ms. Vause has been shot."

I stop in my tracks, eyes bolting open and bile rising in my throat. Before I know it, Eileen is rushing towards me down the hallway.

"She's going to be fine," Agent Spencer states. "I want to be sure you hear that, ma'am."

I put my palm flat on the wall, feeling numb and barely registering her words. "This can't be happening again."

"Ms. Vause will be fine," Eileen says when she reaches us. "A bullet grazed her arm. It's a superficial wound. The most physical damage she incurred happened when she fell to the ground, cutting her chin. They're stitching her up now."

I feel like I might faint. "She was _shot_?"

"But she's _fine_," Eileen says slowly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go to your office." She ushers me a few more steps to the office that's connected to my bedroom and as we make our way inside, Warren approaches us a little out of breath.

"Is Alex ok?" I ask as if I'm afraid someone isn't being honest.

"Yes," he replies. "Agent Paulson will be here any minute. But Ms. Vause is ok."

I look around the room for my phone, which, I discover, is actually in my hand. "I need to talk to her."

"She will call you the moment she can," Eileen replies.

Agent Paulson enters the room with a polite head nod. "Good evening, ma'am. As I'm sure you've heard, Ms. Vause was grazed by a bullet from a .308 Winchester rifle. This is not like your husband's shooting, ma'am—the bullet did not penetrate her body."

I place my hand over my heart. "Thank God." I needed to hear it from the head of my Secret Service detail before believing it. "I really need to talk to her. Is there anything you can do?"

Before Agent Paulson has a chance to respond, I'm already hitting the green button on my phone as I pace between my bedroom and office.

"She has a minor abrasion on her chin from falling on the gravel and requires a few stitches. As soon as they're done, I've asked my folks on the ground to ensure she calls you."

The phone rings and rings, so I hang up and try again.

"You're not going to reach her right now, ma'am," he states.

"Why can't I reach her?" I stand in front of him. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"About Ms. Vause's health? No ma'am. She really is going to be ok."

I shake my head. "I don't understand. What happened?"

"I'm afraid it wasn't a random shooting, Madam President; it was targeted."

I think I'm going to be sick. "Oh, God." I drop my phone to the ground and cover my mouth.

"We have the shooter in custody, thanks to Representative Rappaport," Agent Paulson reports. "He tackled the man as he tried to run away."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Eileen asks.

"No, ma'am. The gunman fired four shots, missing everyone in the vicinity most likely because he was inebriated," he begins. "Ms. Vause was walking with Mr. Latham, Representative Rappaport and his assistant out of an abandoned warehouse, which in my understanding is a potential site for the federal shooting range. From the intel I've gathered, the shooter is a white male in his early 30s who drove up in a Ford pickup truck with stickers of the confederate flag on the windows and bumper."

"_No_," Eileen says before I have a chance to. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"The gunman has been identified as Jeffery Wayne Clement and is a proud Conservative who told police he wanted to wipe 'that gay woman' off the face of the earth." Agent Paulson's jaw flexes. "I'm sorry to report this appears to be a hate crime."

I can't hold it any longer. I move to the nearest corner and vomit my guts out. Eileen rushes to my side and rubs my back.

"It's going to be ok, Madam President," Eileen says and then twists her neck to look at him. "When do you expect to have another briefing?"

He glances at his watch. "Within the next 15 minutes."

Warren returns with a wet towel, looking as sick as I feel. I crawl towards the sofa, letting my head drop to the cushion, close my eyes and try to control my breathing. I'm weak and sick and terrified.

Eileen places the cool rag on my forehead. "We're going to worry about the gunman later, ma'am. For now, just try to relax."

My landline rings and I jump to answer it despite my legs being wobbly. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," comes a familiar, raspy voice.

"_Alex_?" I pull the receiver closer. "Are you ok? I've been worried sick and…and..." My mind is whirling; I don't know what to say.

"I just got five stitches in my chin and a bruised knee; other than that, I'm good," she sighs. "Has someone briefed you?"

I nod even though she can't see me. "Agent Paulson is here with Warren and Eileen," I respond. "What about the bullet wound?"

"It grazed my upper arm. It looks like a bad rug burn, that's all."

"_Alex_…" My eyes sting with tears.

"It's ok, really. I'm fine," she tries. "I can't say the same for the fucking gunman."

I reach for a tissue, wiping my eyes.

"He said something about lesbians and gays and wanting to wipe us all off the face of the earth." It's the first time her voice trembles.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry." I bite my lower lip and press the phone even closer to my face as if that will somehow bring her nearer. "This is my fault."

"It is _not_ your fault, Piper. I need you to know that," she replies firmly. "I was a lesbian long before the two of us met. This was about a man whose heart is filled with hatred coming after a gay woman. It's not about you and me."

"But he knew you were gay and where you'd be." I can't stop crying. "He wouldn't have known any of that if you weren't my partner."

"Partner, huh?" I can hear her smirking as she attempts to soothe me. "You've never called me that before."

I let out a wet huff.

"I'm getting on a plane in like an hour, and I'll see you very soon. I don't want you worrying about me."

"Nice try." I sniff. "I'll let you go only because I know you're safe and I know Agent Paulson is getting an update as we speak." I wipe my nose. "I love you so much."

"Love you, too, babe."

I hang up and sit behind my desk with my head in my hands as I weep. This isn't like when Larry was murdered. That was a raw, guttural feeling that forced me to examine the guilt I harbored by staying with him. Alex getting shot scares the living hell out of me. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her. She is my true love—my North star. I've never loved anyone the way I love her, and on some level, it frightens me. On another level, it helps me understand why this news is so difficult to swallow.

"It's on national news," Warren reports, turning on the TV.

The reporter interrupts a program. _"We have some breaking news coming out of Columbus, Ohio. Lobbyist and presidential girlfriend, Alex Vause has been shot. From what we've gathered, her injuries are not life threatening. I repeat, they're not life threatening. Vause was with a delegation, surveying properties for the first federal shooting range, and none of the others were injured, including Representative James Rappaport. We'll have more on the nine o'clock news. Stay tuned._"

Agent Paulson returns. "Just off the phone with my guys. The gunman admitted that he's an Ian Mayfield supporter. He resents President Chapman for taking assault weapons off the shelves and has made homophobic slurs in the past."

Eileen shakes her head. "Disgusting human being."

"He's in federal custody," Paulson finishes.

"How'd they catch him?" Warren asks.

"All accounts point to Rappaport pinning him down until Mr. Latham was able to assist. One of them kicked the gun away and Ms. Vause called the police."

"Get Rappaport on the phone," I insist.

"Yes, ma'am." Warren and Paulson leave the room and Eileen remains behind with me.

"This is a sick individual we're dealing with here, Madam President," Eileen says. "He's not going to have the chance to hurt anyone ever again."

"But he hurt _her_." I swallow hard. "I couldn't live with it if he—"

"Don't say it." She holds up one hand. "You heard from all of us and directly from Alex—_she's fine_."

"I know, but…" I grab another tissue. "There's so much we still have to do."

"And we _will_."

"I've hardly skimmed the surface on hate crimes and mental health issues," I admit. "If I don't win, those things will never be addressed—at least not for the next four years."

She gives me a small smile. "What I'm hearing is a woman determined to win now more than ever."

I blink at her. "I will _crush_ him."

Agent Paulson re-enters the room and hands me his mobile phone. "Madam President, we have Representative Rappaport on the line."

"James?" I begin, putting him on speaker. "Are you ok?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just a little shaken is all."

"What happened?"

He relays the story with just a little more detail than what Agent Paulson reported.

"You saved Alex's life," I state, feeling my heart pound in my chest.

"I saw danger and I reacted." I envision him shrugging. "I might not agree with Ms. Vause's personal choices or political affiliation, but she's been good to me. She's fair, stern and has the country's best interest at heart."

I'm shocked to hear him say those things. "I can't thank you enough."

"I sure hope she'll be alright."

"Me, too." I pass the phone back to Agent Paulson.

"We need to get him on the circuit," Warren says more to Eileen than to me.

"Yes, we do." Eileen gets up. "What do you say to a hot bath, Madam President?"

I crack my neck from side to side. "That would be nice."

"I'll have someone draw it for you."

I nod. "Eileen, I want a car waiting for Alex the moment she lands."

"Yes, ma'am."

They all file out; now all I can do is wait.

* * *

Three and a half hours pass, and every minute is excruciating. After taking a bath, I try diving into work, but that doesn't last long. I Google the gunman's name and see three links associated with him. The first mentions his name in association with the gun shop where he works. The second and third are about him making racial slurs at Democratic rallies in the past. There's nothing else about Jeffery Wayne Clement, not even a photograph. I turn on the TV to watch the news, and when they flash a picture of Alex my heart sinks. It appears to be an older headshot of her, but she looks as gorgeous as ever. Then they show one of the pictures from our dance at the LGBTQ reception and I find myself reaching out to touch the screen. It brings another wave of tears to my eyes, and I allow them to fall in the privacy of my bedroom.

Ten minutes later my emotions ramp up again when I hear the Secret Service agent knock on my door to announce Alex's presence

I run to the door, swing it open and bury my head in the crook of her neck.

"Ow," she complains, jutting her chin back with a small smile. "Stitches, remember?"

I tug her inside, closing the door and looking closely at her face. "Does it hurt?"

"A little." She touches the wide bandage. "I've taken Aleve to manage the pain. Unfortunately, that's the strongest stuff they gave me."

I reach for her. "Let me see your arm and knee."

"Are you asking me to strip?" she asks with an arched brow.

I give her a look, but I appreciate the humor she's trying to bring to the moment.

She unbuttons her blouse, revealing her dark green, lacy bra, and although I'm always turned on by Alex's tits, this is not the moment for me to touch them. She pulls the shirt off her shoulder and on her upper bicep, I see where the bullet grazed her. She's right—it looks like rug burn. I press my lips to the reddened spot, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to hold back tears.

"Don't cry," she says. "I'm fine…Really."

I pull her whole body towards me and sobs wrack my body. "This was _far_ too close."

"Shhhh…" She rubs the back of my head. "I know."

I hold her for a few minutes before speaking again. "I'll admit I'm not the most vulnerable person in the world." I sniff and wipe my eyes with the hem of my pajama shirt. "But losing you…" I bow my head, and then look back up at her. "I can't."

She presses her lips to my forehead, then kisses my nose, and finally my mouth. It's a more passionate kiss than I expected, but it's what I need to feel close to Alex right now.

She pulls back, cradling my face in her hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

I twist my neck slightly to place a kiss on the side of her hand.

"What I would _love_ right about now is a shower."

I smile. "I can accommodate that if you don't mind a guest."

"A shower guest?" She jokes. "Depends on who it is."

I link our fingers and lead her into the bathroom. She takes off her clothes while I remove my own, and we step under the stream of hot water together. We don't talk; instead, we touch each other intimately but not sexually. I have to feel her skin against mine. I spend most of my attention on her arm, but I also bend down to kiss her bruised knee. It's a nasty bruise, so she must've fallen with great force. As if I'm down there too long, she pulls me up and kisses me.

We get out of the shower and dry off before either of us speaks.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

She looks away. "Not really."

I've known Alex long enough to recognize when she's serious, and I can tell by her body language and the tone of her voice that now is not the time to push. "Ok, but when you're ready…"

"Thank you." She gives me a small smile. "Right now, I just want to go to sleep and face the world tomorrow."

"I'm good with that." I climb into bed and scoot over.

She crawls in after me, and in a change of usual positions, I'm the one who spoons Alex. "I'm glad you're alright." I kiss her shoulder. "And I'm really thankful that you're here with me."

She reaches back with her left hand, placing it over mine. "Me, too."


	17. Chapter 17

I don't sleep well at all that night and find myself waking up every 30 minutes or so to check on Alex. It's like even in a groggy state, I need to make sure she's next to me—that she's safe. Just before 4 a.m. I consider getting out of bed and making a cup of tea, but I decide against it, shutting my eyes once more and trying my hardest to fall back asleep.

I must've dozed off, because when I wake up again, I see that Alex is awake, staring at the ceiling. "Good morning."

She tries to smile, but it falls short. "Morning."

I fling an arm over her stomach. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not terrible." She touches the bandage on her face. "My chin is sore. So is my knee."

"I'm sorry." I rub her side. "Did they check your knee out to make sure you didn't damage the tendons or anything?"

She nods. "Yeah. It's just a bruise."

While my right arm is still slung over Alex's waist, I bend my left arm on the mattress and prop my head up. "Have you talked to your mom?"

She nods. "I called her on the way to the airport yesterday."

"Was she worried?"

"Of _course_ she was," she laughs lightly. "She wanted to come to DC to make sure I was ok."

"I don't blame her."

Alex holds both arms out, flipping them over. "As you can see, I'm fine."

"Physically, yes," I say, letting that hang in the air. "I know a person you might consider talking to."

She turns her head on the pillow. "Am I looking at her?"

"I definitely want to talk about everything, but I meant a professional."

She lifts her brows. "Like a therapist?"

"A psychologist," I reply. "I saw Dr. Adams after Larry was killed. I was resistant at first, but after meeting with her a couple times, I realized how critical it was to talk to someone who could help me cope with my loss."

"I'm glad she helped you." Alex returns to staring at the ceiling and blinks a few times before speaking again. "I just don't understand why someone would want to murder another person because of her sexual preference."

"I know." I lean over to kiss her forehead. "You were the victim of a hate crime, Alex."

Her face twitches—hearing those words seems to have affected her.

"I don't like being a _victim_ of anything."

"I'm going to make a public statement today," I offer.

She brushes it off. "You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do," I respond. "Not only because of what you mean to me, but also because I won't stand for hate crimes in this country."

My phone rings, interrupting our conversation.

I sigh. "I have to get that."

"I know."

I climb over her to answer it.

"Good morning, Madam President. We'd like to get an early start," Eileen says. "We have a lot to cover today."

"I'll be there in 15 minutes." I hang up. "What are you going to do today?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," she admits. "Maybe try to go back to sleep for an hour or two, then touch base with Blake about where we left things."

"I hope you're able to get a little more sleep." I kiss her. "And don't worry about the federal shooting range right now. You and Blake can talk when you're ready."

She nods, but I can tell she's not on board with waiting to get back to work.

I quickly wash my face, put on makeup, get dressed and head out feeling uneasy about leaving Alex alone. She's clearly affected by what transpired yesterday, but I know I can't push her to discuss it with me. I'm going to call Dr. Adams when I have a moment just to check in.

I insist on making a public statement about the shooting, and my staff is a little wary at first. Warren is the one who agrees it would be a good idea, because this isn't the first time I will have spoken about a hate crime. He works with his team to come up with a brief speech, and I text Alex to turn on the television if she wants to watch it. This is the kind of presidential moment that interrupts regularly scheduled programs.

I'm fresh off debate prep, so I don't need much practice before facing the cameras. I do a couple of sound checks and adjust my hair and makeup before the camera goes live.

"Good morning, my fellow Americans. I stand before you today with news that we've seen another hate crime in our great nation. This time the victim was someone close to me—someone for whom I care deeply. I'm not standing here solely because of my personal connection to the victim of this crime, but because _there is no place in the United States for hate_—not because of the color of someone's skin, not because of their religious beliefs, and not because of who they choose to love."

"You might recall the fifth month of my presidency when I stood up here making a similar statement about my lack of tolerance for this kind of behavior. Back then, it was a hate crime against a Muslim family. I say to you as I said then, people who harbor hate in their hearts are not welcome here." I pause. "I don't have my head in the clouds, thinking we should all just get along, though wouldn't that be great? Each of us believes in and stands for different things. Our differences can make us stronger as a country. There are issues where we disagree; people we dislike, and that's perfectly fine, but when a person acts on that dislike in a vengeful way, _that is a hate crime_ and it will be prosecuted as such."

"I believe at their core people are innately good but can be influenced by evil. The man who tried to kill Alex Vause yesterday admitted to being a staunch Conservative and Ian Mayfield supporter. I call on Mr. Mayfield to condemn the gunman's act and to condemn _all_ hate crimes. I can assure you—I will. Thank you, and God bless the United States of America."

I wait until the cameras stop rolling, and then step aside.

"That was great," Warren says.

Eileen nods. "Nice job."

"What's next?" I ask, walking towards my residence.

"I've got Rappaport lined up to do a couple interviews," Warren reports. "We'll work with him to ensure he's on message."

"Good." I turn the corner. "If there's nothing else for now, I'm going to check on Alex."

My personal aide glances at my schedule. "You have the Joint Chiefs in half an hour."

"I'll be ready for them then." I continue walking with a Secret Service agent, leaving my staff behind. I arrive at my bedroom door and enter quietly in case Alex is sleeping. She's not—she's propped up in bed watching television.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey."

I sit on the edge of the mattress. "Did you see my statement?"

"I did." She smiles. "You nailed it."

"Hope so." I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you feeling?"

"I took two more Aleve, so that's helping."

"Good." I pause. "What about emotionally?"

"I feel weird." She moves her head in small bursts and looks up. "Shaken up, I guess."

I grab her hand. "That's not surprising."

"Maybe talking to your shrink would help."

I squeeze her hand. "I'm happy to arrange that." I kiss Alex's forehead and pick up the phone, asking the operator to connect me to Dr. Adams. I explain what happened to her, though it seems she's well aware of what happened in Ohio yesterday.

"Thank you, Dr. Adams. See you soon." I hang up. "She'll be here around three o'clock."

Alex grins. "No waitlist for the President, huh?"

"One of the perks of the job."

"Speaking of jobs, don't you have to get back to yours?"

"I do." I kiss her on the lips. "But I wanted to check on you."

"That's nice of you."

I raise my shoulders. "I'm a nice person."

"That's debatable."

I playfully slap her, but she grabs my hand.

"Thank you, Piper." She kisses my knuckles. "I mean it."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, Alex meets with Dr. Adams three times and seems to be a little more comfortable expressing her feelings about the shooting. She considers herself such a strong person, and while that's certainly true, she needed Dr. Adams to tell her it was ok to feel vulnerable and traumatized. The psychologist also advised her to return to normal activities, but the problem is, Alex is on a leave of absence from the CSGV through the end of the year. Her hobbies revolve around work and the political arena, so Dr. Adams suggested that she read more for pleasure and maybe get out of the DC area for a while. I encouraged her to visit her mom for a week or so, and she's still contemplating that idea.

I'm still knee-deep in messaging about my non-tolerance for hate crimes and Representative Rappaport has been a huge asset in supporting me on new legislation. He's one of the most prominent Republicans in the House, so to have his backing on this is a big win for us. Little did I know he's fond of Alex and appreciates her political knowledge as well as her no-nonsense demeanor. She is as surprised as I am about how cooperative he's being.

The numbers after my debate with Mayfield made it clear that I'm the front runner, though not by as much of a margin as I'd hoped. However, my team ran new numbers after my public statement on hate crimes, and they have ticked up. As it stands now, 57 percent of Americans would vote for me if the election was tomorrow. The more I prove myself to the country by continuing to govern fairly and in a bi-partisan fashion, the more electable I'll become.

* * *

Three weeks after the first presidential debate a bombshell that none of us saw coming hits the news: CNN reports that Ian Mayfield had an affair 20 years ago when his wife was going through chemotherapy. The woman who apparently slept with Mayfield is an heiress to a Texas oil family's fortune and was barely of age when they began the supposed six-month affair. CNN claims they have photos and e-mails as well as a statement from Melinda Buckley, the oil heiress, but they won't release them before giving Mayfield a chance to respond. I don't think if the tables were turned, Fox News would be so kind.

"This is huge!" Warren's exuberance is palpable. "We have Mayfield in a corner."

"Not so fast," Eileen warns with a hand in the air. "He could deny it for another few months until the election is over, meanwhile trying to convince voters that Democrats made the whole thing up."

"We could easily prove him wrong," Warren states.

"He has the audacity to attack _my_ morals?" I'm still stuck on the fact that he's been covering up that he had an extra-marital affair. "He's repulsive."

"Couldn't agree more," Warren says.

I sit in my desk chair. "Even though he's despicable, I'm not going to use this against him."

They both look at me like I've sprouted another head.

"If this is what buries Mayfield, let it bury him." I raise my shoulders. "I don't want any part of a slander campaign. _I'm winning_. Why mess with it when we're ahead?"

"She's right," Eileen responds.

Warren nods. "And it's a great statement. Let's wait to see if Mayfield tells the truth, and then I suggest that you make a public statement similar to the one you just made."

* * *

I haven't seen Alex in four days and it's making me cranky. Dr. Adams thinks it's a good idea for her to have her own space for the time being, so Alex and I agreed to see each other twice a week for the next month. I can't say that I like it—I've grown fond of going to bed at night and waking up each morning with her, but I trust Dr. Adams implicitly. If she says this is best for Alex right now, I'll go along with it. I also don't want Alex to know how much I miss her—I want her to concentrate on getting better. I try to be as cheerful as possible when we talk on the phone.

Today, however, I'm excited to see her even though it's only for a quick lunch. It's a beautiful Autumn day, so I order food for us to eat on the balcony like we did when we were still becoming acquainted.

She's hardly inside before I pull her into my arms. "I've missed you." It's useless to try to hide the emotion in my statement.

I love how tightly she embraces me. "I've missed you, too."

"How are you doing?" I kiss her.

"Good," she replies. "Better."

"I'm glad." I take her hand and lead her to the balcony.

"I got the stitches taken out yesterday."

I hold her chin in my fingers and examine her face. "Scars are hot."

"I'm glad you think so," she chuckles. "Did you order lunch for us?"

"I did." I lift the cloche. "Chef made this delicious salad for me last week with roasted butternut squash, Brussels sprouts and golden beets. I asked him to make us the same thing today."

"Thank you." She leans closer. "Are those apples?"

"I think there are honey crisp apples and Anjou pears." I sit at the far end of the bistro table. "The dressing is maple-orange vinaigrette."

She sits across from me. "It looks amazing…and chef's homemade bread is always delicious."

"I'll tell him you said so." I take my first bite. "I wish we had more time together, but I have a meeting with the HUD secretary in half an hour."

She places a napkin on her lap. "I appreciate whatever time I can get."

I drizzle the dressing on my salad. "I know it's not easy being the President's girlfriend."

Alex grins. "It's not as convenient if I was dating, say, a barista, but I'm not trading you in just yet."

"Should I be worried that you have your eye on a barista?" I take a bite.

"Not that they aren't interesting people, but I think I'd be bored to death if I ever dated one."

"Same." I sprinkle pepper on the salad. "What have you been up to now that you've got all this time on your hands?"

"I've finally unpacked all the moving boxes that were tucked away in a closet. I've also been reading novels that have nothing to do with politics for three or four hours every day, which was hard to get into at first, but I'm enjoying most of the books." She takes a bite. "And believe it or not I've started practicing yoga."

I raise my brows. "You? Yoga?"

She nods. "Turns out, I am _not_ flexible."

"That has not been my experience." I feel a blush crawling up my neck; I'm out of practice flirting.

"Well, it's helping me be even more flexible," she chuckles. "And it's good for my mind, you know? Dr. Adams told me I have to get out of my head, so yoga and daily meditation is aiding with that." She eats another bite of salad. "I miss being with you though."

"I miss it too." I reach for her hand across the table. "This is how it has to be for now. You're getting mentally stronger every day, and I'm fighting the world's problems."

She laughs at that last part. "What would our country do without you?"

"Speaking of, have you been following the Mayfield affair?" I stab a pear with my fork then pop it into my mouth.

"I try to limit myself to an hour of political stuff a day, but yes, I've been following it. If he really _did_ have an affair, he's in deep fucking trouble with voters." She sips her iced tea. "He's already behind in the polls. This would be the end of his political aspirations."

I nod. "We're just waiting for him to admit he had the affair, although Eileen thinks he may try to pin the leak on us."

"Ha! Let him try," she says around a bite of lettuce. "Are you ready to jump on this?"

"I'm not going to." I eat a chunk of butternut squash. "I refuse to sink to his level or to create a smear campaign. If my staff wants to put a few of our allies in place on the news circuit to condemn Mayfield's actions, that's fine, but the attacks won't come directly from me."

"I'm proud of you for taking the high ground," Alex says. "He also hasn't denounced the gunman who tried to kill me or hate crimes in general."

I sip my tea. "Yet another reason I want to make a public statement."

We finish eating our lunch, and then sit on the outdoor sofa for our last five minutes together.

Alex stretches an arm over my shoulders. "I've decided to go on a little trip with my mom next week."

I twist my neck and glance up at her. "Really?"

"I haven't spent any quality time with her since last Christmas," she answers. "As you might recall, our time was abbreviated so I could come back here to be with you."

"I remember." I kiss her cheek. "Where are you going?"

She links our fingers. "I booked a place for four nights in Sedona."

"That sounds heavenly."

"My mom has _never_ had a massage," Alex says. "Can you believe it?"

"Seriously?"

"I got us a full day at the spa, so we'll get facials, a sugar scrub and massages," she replies. "There are all kinds of specialty rooms at the resort like a salt room, a meditation room, and a wellness library. The grounds are gorgeous too, so we'll probably go on a few hikes in the Red Rocks, take a dip in the Infinity pool, eat healthy food, maybe do some shopping…I hope it's a time for both of us to just relax."

"Take me with you," I joke.

She chuckles, kissing the side of my head. "I wish I could."

"You know, there's nothing stopping us from spending a weekend away together in the near future," I toss out there. "Presidents did it all the time before I came along."

"Really?"

"I mean we can't escape to Manhattan to catch a Broadway show," I respond. "But we could spend time at Camp David again. Maybe I can put the wheels in motion and we can plan a little getaway after you come back."

"I'd love that."

"I'll work on it." I stand, taking both her hands in mine. "I don't want our time together to end."

"Same."

"Can you stay a little longer even though I have to leave?" I inhale a deep breath of fresh, autumnal air. "Enjoy this gorgeous weather on the balcony?"

"I wish I could." She stands and breaths in the cool air. "I promised Edwin I'd stop by to get caught up on the Alabama gun law thing. I don't expect any miracles, but I'm eternally hopeful."

I wrap my arms around her waist. "Maybe you could spend the night tomorrow?"

She strings hers over my shoulders. "I'd like that."

We kiss goodbye, and it's the best kiss I've shared with her since the shooting. It's tender and warm and _healthy_. Some of our recent kisses have felt timid and rushed—like she's holding back.

"I'll see you tomorrow evening." She hugs me. "I'll bring Chinese takeout."

"What?"

"When is the last time you ate greasy Chinese food?"

"God, I couldn't tell you." I walk with her through my bedroom. "But Chow Mein and eggrolls sound delicious."

"Then it's settled. I'll pick it up on my way over." She kisses me once more. "Have a good rest of your day."

"You, too. Bye, Alex."

* * *

During Alex's time away, I throw myself into work and my re-election campaign. Mayfield denies accusations that he had an affair, so just as they warned, CNN issues two pictures and a couple of raunchy e-mails exchanged between him and Melinda Buckley. There's no refuting it now, and he's forced to come clean. Of course, Fox News has the exclusive.

"_Mr. Mayfield, we recognize this is a difficult time for you and your family. How are you holding up?" the Fox reporter asks. _

I'm already rolling my eyes at what will surely be a one-sided news story.

"_I've had better days," he says. "But I want the American people to know the truth, which is that my wife was aware of my purely physical relationship with Ms. Buckley."_

I stand next to Eileen. "If I had something to throw at the TV, I would."

"_My wife, Betty, was undergoing her second round of chemo after being diagnosed with breast cancer the year prior," Mayfield continues. "We had and continue to have a loving marriage, but she could not perform wifely duties, so she suggested I find someone who I could share that part of myself with. It was not an emotional attachment whatsoever. I love my wife. She's about as unselfish as they come."_

I'm the first to react. "I'm sorry—_wifely_ duties?"

"He basically just admitted that his wife wouldn't have sex with him, so she told him to get laid by someone else." Eileen shakes her head. "This is appalling."

"_How do you think this will play with the election coming up in six weeks?" the reporter asks._

"_Well, I hope the voters can understand the predicament I was in," he replies. "This was not a case of me cheating on my wife—it was an agreement. No one got hurt because of our plan."_

"He cheated on his wife!" Warren shouts at the TV. "A Republican presidential candidate cheated on his wife and he wants Americans to _understand_?"

I fold my arms. "Pig."

"_I still believe in family values, Sean," he continues. "Sometimes adults have to make difficult decisions, and that's what my wife and I faced, but we did so together. We are stronger now because of it."_

"_In the latest polls, you are losing to President Chapman by roughly 10 percent," Smith says. "Now that you've explained your consensual affair, do you anticipate those numbers will climb?"_

"_I certainly do," he responds. "This was a blip on the radar that happened 20 years ago. I still stand by my campaign promise to make America the most powerful and prosperous nation in the world. I'm the only candidate who can broker a trade deal with China and any other country that comes along to challenge us financially."_

"_Thank you, Mr. Mayfield and good luck."_

"Unbelievable." I shake my head. "If I don't gain another three to five points after this, something is seriously wrong with this country."

"You need to make a statement, ma'am," Warren replies.

Eileen nods her agreement. "Let us put something together for you. We'll work with Stephanie Horowitz as well."

"I feel like all I've done for the past three months is make statements," I huff.

"You've been faced with some major events that have warranted presidential attention," Eileen states. "This is yet another of those events, ma'am."

"Fine. I'd like to deliver it tomorrow afternoon."

"We'll have it in place by then."

I leave Eileen's office and head to the Oval Office for a rare 15-minute break. I open my laptop and quickly scan my Inbox to see if anything is pressing. There are items I'll need to get to before day's end, but right now, I want to do something I've been thinking about for the better part of the year. I take a deep breath before typing into the search engine: engagement rings. I smile as images of diamond rings appear.

I scan an article called Engagement Rings 101, and then glance at the types of rings that exist. It's overwhelming. There's a cheat sheet at the bottom of the page. _If she's classic, go for the solitaire; if she's modern, go for the channel set; if she's traditional, go for the three-stone_. Alex is none of those things—she's bold, unique, stunning, and brave. I scroll through 50 images of diamond rings, but none of them seem appropriate.

Mrs. Willoughby knocks. "Madam President, the Secretary of Education is here."

I shut my laptop and focus on my next meeting. "Send her in, thank you."

* * *

When I finally wrap up the busy day around nine o'clock, I go to my bedroom shocked to find Alex waiting there for me.

I rush over to her, wrapping my arms around her and savoring her familiar scent. "You're back."

She kisses me. "I am."

I stare at my Smith College t-shirt that's perfectly snug over her breasts. "And I see you've helped yourself to my clothes."

"I spilled juice on my blouse and didn't feel like going to my apartment to change." She brushes my hair behind my ear. "I hope it's ok that I dug in your drawer to find something."

"It looks good on you." I kiss her neck. _Once, twice_. "Although I wouldn't have complained if you'd just taken your blouse off altogether."

She cocks an eyebrow. "You wanted me to wait for you in my skivvies?"

I shrug. "I'm just saying you wouldn't have heard me complain."

Seeing her in my t-shirt sends a sexual surge throughout my body, and I'd like to take things to the next level, but I don't want to assume she's ready. We haven't had sex since the attempted shooting nor have we discussed it, and now I'm wondering if I'm being overly cautious for no reason. It's not like Alex has said anything about not wanting to have sex—I just assumed she still needed space.

I'm not ready to broach the subject yet, so I redirect the conversation. "How was your trip?"

"It was great," she replies. "That was probably the most I've relaxed in five years. Each morning, I'd make a cup of green tea and sit on the patio to watch the sunrise before my mom woke up. It was so peaceful and quiet. I didn't have to rush off to one meeting or another; I didn't have to watch my back; and I didn't have to compromise with people who don't support common sense gun laws."

"Sounds amazing. I don't remember the last time I watched the sunrise unless it was from my seat on Air Force One." I quickly change into sweats. "Did your mom enjoy her first massage?"

"She loved it; so did I," Alex reports. "We had an entire day at the spa, so she and I didn't talk much while we were enjoying the services, but we caught up over dinner that night. She was so appreciative."

"I'll bet." I join her on the sofa. "What was your favorite part of the trip?"

"Just clearing my mind," she says. "I've done a decent job at that the last few weeks in DC, but being away helped a lot, especially in a place like Sedona where everything seems to be about balance and wellness."

I press my lips to her cheek. "I'm so happy to hear that."

She pulls my legs onto her lap. "How've things been here?"

"Busy as you might imagine," I respond. "I'm going to make a public statement tomorrow about the whole Mayfield affair thing and the fact that he hasn't spoken out against hate crimes."

"Don't hold your breath on that one." She rubs my calves. "The guy who tried to kill me is a Mayfield supporter. He's not going to alienate his psycho base by saying it's wrong to attack someone who's gay."

"Which is why I'm going to call him out."

"I hope you turn Republican voters in your favor," she says. "Mayfield is a bonafide asshole."

I chuckle. "He is."

I lean my back against the armrest, keeping my legs on Alex's lap. "Did you talk to Dr. Adams while you were in Sedona?"

She shakes her head. "We're going to meet tomorrow, but that might be the last time I see her."

I _hope_ I know the reason, but I don't want to be presumptuous. "The last time? Why?"

"I'm better." She shrugs. "I haven't had a nightmare in two weeks, I've been meditating daily, and I've had the time and space I need to be fully in control of my thoughts."

I reach for her hand. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks." She smiles. "I'm sure there will be times when I feel anxious, but she's taught me strategies to help when I experience those emotions."

I nod. "It's amazing what we can do for ourselves when we have the right mental tools."

"Thank you for referring me to her." She lowers my legs and scoots closer. "She really made a difference."

"I'm glad." I return her smile.

"And I was wondering…" Her hand trails up my arm and shoulder until landing on my neck. "If tonight maybe we could…be together."

"We are together." I hope toying with her doesn't backfire.

She leans over, mouth hovering over mine. "Do you need me to spell it out?"

"I do."

"I want to fuck you, Piper." She still doesn't kiss me; instead, she uses her index finger to trace my lips and I can feel her warm breath against my mouth. "Would you be open to that?"

I close the distance between us, and it doesn't take long for the kiss to become messy and even a little desperate. It's been a long time since we've shared this kind of passion, and it fills me with _joy_ and _need_ and _carnal desire_. This isn't the most elegant sex we've had, but it might be the most frantic. It's like I have an unquenchable desire to show her how badly I want her, and my hands and mouth struggle to convey that message with the kind of fervor I want. So, I keep trying. I place one hand against her now naked side, gripping and tugging her closer; the other is snarled in her hair. My mouth can't possibly capture enough of her lips and tongue, but I don't give up. There's an overwhelming sense of desperation in the way we fuck right here on the sofa, and I'm ok with that, because I _have_ been desperate to be with Alex like this. I'm sure next time it'll be more tender and loving, but right now it's about feeling her naked body against mine, knowing she's whole again.

We spend much of the night having sex, each time different than the last. It isn't until after midnight when we finally make love before going to sleep, and I'm thankful that's the way things ended.

* * *

Author's Note: I was wrong about the number of chapters, sorry. There should be two more after this one. Thanks for sticking with me!


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: I will not be able to post tomorrow, so you're getting the second to last chapter today. I know it's short, but you'll be rewarded on Monday with a chapter double in length to wrap this story up. I need to start working on my Christmas fic, and I can't do that until I'm finished posting this beast of a story. Thanks again for your reviews!

* * *

The following day I make a public announcement that coincides with the evening news cycle.

"It seems I've been interrupting your day far too often, my fellow Americans," I begin. "By now I'm sure you've heard about Ian Mayfield's affair, and you might expect me to comment on his infidelity. Unlike Mr. Mayfield, I don't believe in running a smear campaign nor do I want a window into what happens or happened in his personal life. Instead, I'm speaking to you tonight about hate crimes. Last week, I stood in this very room, addressing the nation about my non-tolerance for hate of _any_ kind. With my steadfast and devoted team, I've begun working on hate crime legislation. Mr. Mayfield refuses to make a statement against these crimes, which leads me to believe he thinks it's perfectly fine for someone to harm another person out of sheer loathing. I find that deplorable."

"Next month, you're going to vote for the person who will lead our country for the next four years. I'm here to tell you I won't back down from the promises I made to you four years ago and the promises I've made during my re-election campaign. As I mentioned, I will draw up legislation to punish hate crimes. I will broker a deal with China that benefits working Americans. I will work with corporations and Congress to save our planet that is currently in crisis because of climate change. I will peacefully end the conflict in Iran, bringing our troops home. And I will enforce everyone's right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness regardless of skin color, race, religion or who you choose to love. In other words, I'm going to continue to lead the country with a generosity of spirit and a commitment to solving problems in a bi-partisan way. Thank you for listening, and God bless America."

I step away from the microphone and notice my staff smiling and nodding at me, though Alex is the first to speak. "You've gotten good at this."

"She certainly has," Warren comments. "Well done, Madam President."

"As much as I'd love to celebrate a well-delivered speech, we've got another issue on our hands," Eileen beings. "A Princess cruise ship with nearly 300 passengers and crew was ordered quarantined in the Caribbean after a case of measles was confirmed on board."

I squeeze Alex's hand. "I'll see you later?"

She nods.

I walk down the corridor with Eileen and Blake. "Is the ship at sea or in port?"

"It had just set sail from the Port of St. Lucia but returned when the doctor on board confirmed that one female crew member had measles," Eileen continues. "We've got the commandant from the Coast Guard on the line."

I spend the rest of my day dealing with the quarantined ship, plus a five-alarm fire at an automotive factory in Detroit, and a hostage situation at a bank in Cedar Rapids. It isn't until dinner when I get a report from Warren about my presidential opponent.

This will be a working dinner, so I grab a cup of soup from the back table in the corridor leading to Eileen's office and my staff follows me inside with a simple dinner of their own.

"What's he done now?"

"He made a public statement," Warren says, unwrapping his sandwich. "You want me to read it or watch it on tape?"

"No need to see his face on TV," I reply. "Read it, please."

He skims the first part, which is nothing but self-praise for the work he claims he has done on behalf of the poor. It's stuff I've never heard before, so either he's making it up or isn't talking about doing good in the community, but rather donating money to causes where he can benefit from a tax break.

"…I will stand tough against crime no matter what kind it may be," Warren reads. "And unlike my opponent, I think we need to build more prisons to lock up criminals instead of letting them try to rehabilitate. Statistics show that rehabilitation does not work. Those who end up in prison are 10 times more likely to re-offend and be placed in police custody within two years of release."

"Where in the hell is he getting these numbers?" I ask, spoon in midair.

"We have our people fact checking, but the numbers are clearly false," Eileen states.

"Notice he's not condemning hate crimes," Warren adds.

"I picked up on that," I reply.

He continues reading Mayfield's statement which is full of so many holes it has to sink him.

I swallow a bite of soup. "Nothing about his affair?"

Eileen shakes her head. "Not a word."

"Our allies have been on several news programs over the past few days and will continue to question how Mayfield is even still in this race after admitting to having an affair," Warren says. "We're expecting new polling numbers in two days, but internal polls tell us you're still leading by 11 percent."

"Seems like it should be more," I respond. "It amazes me that conservatives align with Mayfield even though they probably don't agree with much of what he's done."

"Older American voters have a pattern of not crossing party lines," Eileen states. "And unfortunately, they're the ones who turn out at the polls in droves on election day."

"Maybe I should be more focused on educating America." I take another bite of soup. "Doesn't seem like some of them understand what's at stake here."

"Agreed."

We finish eating dinner, and I make a couple phone calls before heading to my residence just after 10 p.m.

I crawl into bed with my laptop, check my work e-mail, and then resume searching for engagement rings. Last time I did this, the choices seemed overwhelming, but now I know what I'm looking for: a one of a kind ring. I scroll through generic pictures of engagement rings, and then decide to look more closely at specific jewelry stores. I have to plan this well, because I don't have the luxury of popping into a store in the middle of the day nor do I think my staff would appreciate me taking time to look at rings during our impending two-week campaign trip across the country.

I glance at my tentative schedule for the next month and can't seem to find the right time to make this happen…unless I do it on the way to the airport _after_ canvassing. Looks like we'll be in Charlotte. I do a quick Internet search for the best jewelry stores in the area, read about each one, and then glance at their selection. There's a place called Kennewick's that has a unique selection of engagement rings. I consider three or four of them, and then I see one that looks just right.

"This is it," I say to myself with a smile. I stare at it a little longer, zooming in and reading the description. Indeed, this is the ring I want Alex to wear for the rest of her life. I make a note to call the jeweler in the morning in hopes that he has the ring in stock.

* * *

Although I didn't ask Alex to spend the night, I'm pleasantly surprised to see her in my bedroom when I return.

I smile. "You're here."

She's reading a novel in bed. "Was I not supposed to be?"

"There's nothing you aren't supposed to do." I kick off my heels. "Whenever you feel like spending the night, I welcome it."

She sets the book in her lap and grins. "What if I wanted to spend every night with you?"

I walk over to her, shedding my blazer. "I'd be ecstatic." And kiss her.

She runs a hand down the back of my head. "As much as I'd love that, I don't think the public would look highly on the President's girlfriend moving into the White House."

Despite being fully dressed, I climb onto the mattress next to her. "You're probably right…for now."

"What do you mean?"

"After I get re-elected, we can revisit this idea."

"I'd like that." She places the novel on the end table.

"Good." I crawl out of bed to change into pajamas. "Is your mom able to come to DC for election day?"

"Yeah."

"I'm glad." I walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth. "Do you realize this will only be my second time meeting her?"

"That's crazy," Alex responds. "At least you've had several phone conversations."

"True, but it's not the same," I say with a mouthful of toothpaste. I finish brushing my teeth, and then pad back into the bedroom. "I look forward to spending more than five minutes with her this time around."

Alex smiles. "So does she."

As I lie in bed with her tonight, I think about how far we've come and how lucky I am. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, but I wasn't in love with any of them. When I met Larry, I told myself I could love him, and I did in my own way, but I never experienced that soaring feeling of being in love the way I do with Alex. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd have an opportunity, especially while serving as President of the United States, to begin a romantic relationship with someone.

Against all odds, Alex and I have tackled this complicated situation despite significant roadblocks. She makes me feel alive in ways Larry never did. She respects the office I serve, but she also loves me as an ordinary woman. That must not be easy for her to navigate, but I'm grateful she was and continues to be patient with me as I try to figure things out from a professional and personal angle. It feels like we're one step closer to what I ultimately want with Alex: marriage.

* * *

Two weeks before the election, I travel all over the country campaigning. Alex joins me in some of the deep blue states, but I go solo to swing states, which is where I spend the majority of my time. Although campaigning is exhausting, it's also exhilarating. I'm much more of a known entity now, so the crowds are bigger and louder than my first time around.

Before we head back to DC, I have lunch in my hotel suite in North Carolina with Eileen, Warren, Blake, Jane and Stephanie Horowitz.

"I'll trade my curly fries for somebody's tater tots." Blake holds up the paper container.

"Deal." Jane hands him her tater tots.

I enjoy being in the trenches with my campaign staff and volunteers even when it involves processed food and milkshakes.

"Did anyone have any good conversations today?" Stephanie asks.

A couple of staffers share stories about voters who needed a little more convincing that I am fit to serve another four years.

"Things are looking good in North Carolina," Stephanie says after a sip of her strawberry milkshake. "It's Florida, Iowa, Ohio and Michigan I'm most concerned about."

"You're not worried about Colorado and Minnesota?" Warren asks.

She takes a bite of her burger. "I am, but not as much as the states I mentioned."

I dip a French fry in ketchup. "Which states do we need to lock in early to win?"

Stephanie points to a map. "If they're able to call New Hampshire, North Carolina, Ohio and Pennsylvania for us early, the only states we'll really need are Iowa and Michigan."

"That's assuming we get Virginia, too," Blake states around a tater tot. "And probably Nevada."

"Yes," Stephanie says. "It'll be down to the wire just like last time."

"We've done everything we possibly could to win." I sip my Diet Coke, which is ironic considering the cheeseburger I just destroyed. "Maybe I'm the eternal optimist, but I think we've got this."

"Don't jinx it." Eileen gets up to throw her wrapper away. "We're heading out in about an hour. I'm going back to my room to pack unless you need anything, ma'am."

"I'm good, thanks." Then I remember I haven't broached the topic I meant to bring up yesterday. "Oh, I'd like to make a quick stop before we go to the airport."

"Where would you like to go, Madam President?"

"It's a surprise."

"As you know, ma'am, the Secret Service doesn't like surprises," she states.

I toss my empty cup into the trashcan. "Then I'll have a word with my agents."

She looks a little suspicious. "Yes, ma'am."

I shove my clothes into my suitcase, and then call the Charlotte jeweler to ensure he's still willing to meet with me today. Finally, I phone Agent Paulson to tell him about my plan. He assures me he'll have everything in place to make the stop.

"May I ask where we're going?" Eileen asks from her place next to me in the sedan.

I smile. "No, you may not."

"That leads me to believe this is something I won't approve of."

"You're probably right," I reply, still smiling. "But it's happening whether you like it or not."

Jane's smile matches my own, though I haven't filled her in on where we're headed.

We drive about 15 minutes, talking about Ian Mayfield and the election, and then the car comes to a stop.

The agent holds the door open for me. "We're here, ma'am."

I step out of the vehicle followed by Eileen, Jane, Chris and Warren.

Eileen shakes her head. "I should've known."

"This is so exciting." Jane squeezes my arm.

"Ugh, really?" Warren sighs.

I step into Kennewick Jewelers with a wide grin.

The owner greets me. "What an honor, President Chapman."

"You have the most unique jewelry in all of Charlotte." I shake his hand. "The pleasure is mine."

"Thank you." He walks behind the counter. "I have the ring you indicated you liked from our website, and then three similar rings I thought you might want to see."

I eye each of the rings, but my heart is set on the first one I saw online. It's even more impressive in person. "This is the one."

He presents it to me. "This is a rustic diamond slice ring set in a halo of white diamonds on an 18-karat gold band."

I hold it up to the light. "The diamond in the center looks almost raw."

"Yes, ma'am. The manufacturer cuts it to show interesting patterns while keeping the stone's original outline," he replies. "No two rings are identical."

"I love it." I slip it onto my finger. "It's perfect. Is this a size seven?"

"Let me check." He takes the ring from me and puts it on a sizer. "Yes, it's a seven."

I exhale a long breath, trying to expel my nerves. _I want this;_ _I want to be with Alex forever_. I smile. "I'll take it."

"Congratulations, ma'am," Jane gushes.

"You're buying the first ring you've seen?" Eileen asks.

"I've been looking online for the past month, but yes, this is the first ring I've seen in person," I respond. "And it couldn't be any more fitting for Alex."

"It's beautiful," Jane comments.

"There's nothing you can say to talk me out of this, Eileen." I turn to my Communications Director. "That goes for you, too. Whether I win or lose the election, I want to spend the rest of my life with Alex."

"I've always thought you make a lovely couple," Chris says and Jane nods.

"I'm not going to stop you from marrying her," Eileen says. "I'd just like you to wait until after the election to propose, ma'am."

I nod. "That's my plan."

"Good." She gives me a genuine smile. "Then I offer you my sincere congratulations."

"Don't congratulate me until she says yes."


	19. Chapter 19

Election Day the first time around was stressful enough, but this time feels even more intense partly because I haven't accomplished everything I set out to do and partly because I'm carrying around an engagement ring that's been burning a hole in my pocket. I've kept in on my person every day since I bought it not so much because I was afraid Alex might find it; rather, because I want to touch it all the time. When I have a particularly difficult conversation or need to make an important decision, I reach for the ring and somehow it calms me. It's not that I need a reminder that I want Alex in my life, but my connection to this ring is yet another sign that I want to spend my life with her.

I arrive at my polling place to vote first thing that morning, take the obligatory photos and answer a few questions, and then get whisked back to the White House. Upon entering, everything looks like business as usual.

"Where's all the fanfare?"

My personal aide glances at me. "Fanfare for what?"

I stop short. "Election day."

"Oh, things won't get interesting until the early evening, ma'am," Chris replies with a shoo'ing motion.

I continue walking towards my office. "No one is watching the results as they come in?"

"It's too early, ma'am. I guess it's kind of a regular day for us," she says. "Until later, of course. I can call everyone to the East Room or something—maybe get some donuts, roll in a television, and we can make a party out of it."

"No, that's ok," I sigh. "It just felt different last time around."

"That's because you hadn't won yet, Madam President," Chris responds. "You didn't have a staff of hundreds of people whose main job is to, you know, run the country even on important days like today. With all due respect, the world doesn't stop on election day."

"I guess you're right." I step inside the Oval Office to find my senior staff waiting. "Did you all realize there wasn't going to be any fanfare today?"

They all stand as I enter, but it's Eileen who speaks first. "There's nothing to celebrate or lament until much later, ma'am."

"I just thought…" I shrug. "Never mind. What do I need to be briefed on this morning?"

The day goes much like any other day with the exception of hourly updates on polling results starting at 1 p.m. There's nothing to get excited or anxious about at that time or even at 4 p.m. It's then when Stephanie Horowitz arrives.

"Please tell me things are about to heat up around here," I greet her.

"Not until around seven o'clock," she replies. "Democrats and diehard political junkies vote early, so right now, the numbers might seem skewed in our favor. I don't put much stake in them until around the evening."

"The majority of Americans vote after work," Eileen reports. "So for the most part, numbers are more predictive in the evening."

"It's no surprise that right now, you're ahead," Warren chimes in. "You have 9,651,908 votes to Mayfield's 8,109,871."

"Good."

"The East Room is all set up for the gathering later, ma'am," Eileen reports. "As is the Blue Room for a more intimate gathering."

I glance at my Communications Director. "I just realized I've only practiced one speech."

"That's all I wanted you to practice, Madam President," he responds. "If you have to give a concession speech, we'll have time to work on it an hour before you'd appear on stage."

Four years ago, I practiced both.

"Let's hope that never happens," I say. "Where's Alex?"

Alex and I spent the night together, but I haven't seen her since we woke up before sunrise. The plan was for us to meet up some time this afternoon to watch the election results together, but time must have gotten away from her or she, like the rest of my staff, realized that things don't crank up until much later.

"Ms. Vause is picking up her mother at Reagan International," Chris replies. "They should be here within the hour."

"We couldn't send a car for her?" I ask.

Chris shrugs. "She insisted."

I attend two more meetings that afternoon, and then turn to my Chief of Staff. "This is ridiculous. I want to watch the returns come in not just for my re-election but for the House and Senate races."

She glances at her watch. "Now is the perfect time to do that, ma'am."

Warren, Blake and a few other staffers are in the Blue Room, which has three televisions but only one of them has the volume on.

"What's going on with the Senate seat in Georgia?" I ask.

The staffers stand.

"Gardner has the lead," Blake reports.

"Good." I grab a bottle of Perrier. "Give me a rundown on what's happening."

Blake and another staffer take turns filling me in for the next ten minutes, and then I hear a familiar voice enter the room.

"This doesn't look like a party," Alex notes.

"I've been saying the same thing all day." I cross the room and hug her, and then I embrace her mom. "Hi, Diane. So glad you could be here."

She's positively glowing. "I still can't believe it."

"Well, you'll have a front row seat to all the action." I squeeze her arm. "Will someone please liven up the place?"

"Yes, ma'am," I hear in unison.

"Do you think they're secretly scared we're going to lose and that's why there aren't any decorations?" I ask.

"You know how Eileen gets, ma'am," Chris replies. "I heard her yell at a guy for bringing balloons within 50 feet of her office."

I recall the time when we watched the House vote on the gun bill, and Eileen complained that there was _premature Champagne_. "That's true," I say. "But I refuse to pretend like this day isn't a big deal. Win or lose, I want to be energized."

"You tell 'em," Diane says with a little fist pump.

For the next hour as my staff hustles to hang banners and bring in red, white and blue helium balloons, I make small talk with Alex and her mom, occasionally sticking my hand in my pocket to feel the ring. I try not reaching in there too often for fear I'll end up pulling it out and ruining the surprise. I worry though, that if I lose the election, it won't feel right proposing to Alex. I still haven't decided if I'll pull the trigger if _that_ happens.

At 7:06 p.m. Stephanie and Eileen enter the Blue Room. "We've got some new numbers." By now there are about 25 people gathered, so she waits until the noise dies down. "President Chapman: 40,376,083 and Mayfield: 39,303,997."

"We're only up by about a million votes?" I sigh. "I expected higher numbers."

"That's a helluva lot of votes, ma'am," Diane chimes in. "Don't hang your head."

"The margin is entirely too thin to get excited," Stephanie says.

"You're only down by four percent in Florida," Eileen comments. "That's promising."

Stephanie nods. "You lost Florida by 12 percent last time. We should have Virginia and Pennsylvania by nine and one of the big ones, Ohio, about an hour after that."

"This is nerve wracking," Diane says. "I don't know how you have the patience."

I shrug. "There's nothing I can do to speed things up."

"I guess that's true," she replies.

The waiting game continues, though there are some exciting moments along the way, including two Democratic victories in swing states and a bond measure for education that passes in Virginia. Stephanie gives us updates on our numbers as well as the tight House and Senate races every hour.

Just after 9 p.m. Eileen, Stephanie and Warren call me into a more private room.

"What is it?" I stand tall as if my posture will help me take the bad news they're likely going to deliver.

Warren pours a glass of Scotch, handing it to me. "We've got some news."

"Well?" I wait anxiously, gripping the crystal glass.

Stephanie smiles. "You're going to win Ohio."

"Shit, I thought you were going to tell me something terrible." I let out a long, relieved breath.

"Congratulations, ma'am." Eileen pats my shoulder. "This is a big one."

"It is." I turn to Stephanie. "Have they called Pennsylvania and Virginia?"

"No. We'll turn our attention to those states now," she responds.

"Florida would be an incredible victory, but it's not essential," Warren chimes in. "As long as we get Pennsylvania and Virginia."

I take a sip of Scotch. "What are the early polling numbers?"

"Too close to call," Stephanie says. "We'll have a better idea in another hour."

"Some of our volunteers and campaign staff have arrived in the East Room," Warren says. "They'll spend the next two or three hours watching the returns there."

"Should we join them?" I ask.

"You'll go in to announce numbers when there's a big shift such as this; otherwise, it's perfectly fine for you to remain in a smaller setting with the people closest to you," Stephanie offers.

I smile. "Then I guess I have some good news to share."

* * *

As the night continues, things get more exciting and some of the House and Senate races are too close to call. I get whisked away to deal with a US Navy F-14 fighter plane that went down over Afghanistan, which pulls me out of the election party for about an hour. When I return to the hubbub in the Blue Room, my eyes latch on to Alex. This isn't new—I've been drawn to her since the first time I saw her—but this time is different. She looks ever the same in her professional black suit and expensive heels, but her features are softer. I'm sure it has everything to do with her mom's presence.

I wonder what it must be like to have a close relationship with your mother. That hasn't been the case my whole life, but I never fully realized what I was missing. I'm hoping that as time goes on, Diane becomes like a second mom to me.

The other thing I realize is that the next couple of hours or so will be the last time I'll refer to Alex as my _girlfriend_; after tonight if things go my way, she'll be my _fiancée_.

At 10 p.m. we find out I've lost Pennsylvania but won Virginia and Minnesota.

"With 20 electoral votes Pennsylvania is a big blow," Eileen sighs.

That took the wind out of my sails. "Damn." I direct my attention to Stephanie. "What are the totals right now?"

She flips a page in her folder. "You have 37,455,981 to Mayfield's 36,129,076."

"That's still too close." I clench my jaw.

Alex grabs my hand. "You'll get the entire West Coast."

"Does Nevada come into play?" I ask.

Stephanie nods. "Nevada and Colorado both matter a great deal."

"When will we have those numbers?"

"It's going to probably be closer to midnight," she responds. "The curse of being two hours behind Mountain time."

I shake my hands and begin to pace. "I need a distraction."

All eyes are on Alex.

She points to herself. "Me?"

"You've been the perfect distraction so far," Eileen says.

I give her a look.

"I guess that answers my question." Alex rises and takes my hand.

"Where are you taking me?"

She pulls me down the long hallway towards the East Wing. We make it through the big, white doors, and she shoves me against the wall, hands on my face, and kisses the living hell out of me. Of course, a Secret Service agent is five feet away and flinches at Alex's swift movement.

"I don't think that's something you can do in front of her," I comment, wiping my mouth and glancing at Agent Spencer.

"You get that I love her, right?" Alex asks the agent. "And I'd never do anything to hurt her."

"Yes, ma'am," she replies, hand on her gun.

"Sorry, Agent Spencer," I say. "This was unexpected—_welcomed_, but unexpected."

She nods and lets her hand fall away from the gun. "As long as you're ok, ma'am."

"I'm fine." I give Alex a look, and then take her hand again, pulling her down the corridor and up the stairs. "You're lucky she didn't pin _you_ against the wall."

"I could take her," Alex jokes barely above a whisper.

"Actually, I don't think you could." We arrive at my bedroom.

"Probably not."

We go inside, and it's my turn to push Alex against the wall. My hands trail up her body, pressing hard so I can feel her curves and an erect nipple.

"But behind closed doors, by all means, ravage me," I say as she tugs on my lower lip.

This leads to an unexpected round of sex while standing with Alex's hand tucked deep in my pants. I've never been good at fucking while upright, and Alex seems to know this, so before I orgasm, she tugs me to the side until I land on the sofa.

As she maneuvered me, her hand lost contact with my clit, so I put it back into position and cover it with my own hand. "Don't stop."

That's all it takes for her to resume her ministrations on my center, and I buck into her. She kisses me hard, making my head hit the back of the sofa, and if I were coherent enough to care, I'd worry about the bruise I'll likely have from the action. Nevertheless, Alex makes me cum against her fingers and all thoughts about election numbers fly out the window.

"What has gotten into you?" I pant.

"They asked me to distract you." She rests her back against the sofa and tucks my shoulders under her arm. "This was the best way to get your mind off the election."

"How much time do you think has passed?" My breathing evens out.

She shrugs. "Twenty minutes?"

"Not long enough." I stand, hastily removing my shirt and pants, but careful to ensure the ring doesn't slip out.

"Would you like me to get undressed?" she chuckles.

"Yes." I take off my underwear and feel the sticky residue from my orgasm. "This is disgusting."

She steps out of her slacks. "Or delicious, depending how you look at it."

We kiss for several minutes, hands roaming each other's bodies, and I realize I've gotten good at sex with Alex. She's still the more sensual one with superior moves, but I can hold my own. I position her on the edge of the bed, and then make my way down her body.

She bites her lip. "That feels good."

After I make her cum, she returns the favor for my second orgasm in the span of an hour, and then we lie breathless and exhausted in the bed.

"Wow," I comment.

"Yeah." She lifts my hand, bringing it to her mouth.

"Please tell me it's close to midnight."

She sits halfway up and glances at the clock on the bedside table. "It is."

I sit up and see that it's 11:39 p.m. "There are probably some critical results in by now."

"I'm sure there are." Alex scoots out of bed, and then offers me a hand. "No matter what happens, I believe in you." She kisses my forehead. "And I love you."

"I love you, too." I smile.

I quickly change into an entirely different outfit even though I know it'll draw attention. Oh, well—I'm not going back down there smelling like sex. I give Alex a clean pair of underwear before puts her clothing back on.

"It's kind of a thrill to be wearing your panties," she comments.

"Now I won't be able to get that out of my mind." I slip into a dress with pockets and ensure she's distracted while I tuck the engagement ring into my new clothes.

She sets the hairbrush on the counter. "Ready?"

I nod. "Ready."

We walk hand in hand down the corridor until we reach the West Wing. I release her hand as I hear cheers coming from the East Room.

"Are those shouts of joy?" I ask.

"Sounds like it," Alex replies.

Eileen greets us in the hallway. "Madam President, where have you been?"

I shrug. "You told Alex to distract me."

"Not for more than an hour," she says, hands on her hips but a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "As you can hear from the music and cheering, there's been a development."

I take a step forward. "What is it?"

"We won Minnesota and Colorado," she responds with a full-fledged smile.

"We did?" I reach out to hug her and then Alex. "Does that mean…"

"We're just waiting on Nevada, ma'am."

Stephanie and Warren appear. "There you are."

"I'm sorry I missed the latest numbers." I tuck my hair behind my ear. "We were, um…"

Stephanie smirks. "I see you've changed into a victory dress."

"I have." I'm sure my grin matches Alex's. "Eileen was just telling me it all comes down to Nevada."

She nods. "We dipped in that state about three hours ago, but as time has ticked on, the numbers have moved in your favor."

I take a deep breath. "Ok."

"We want you in the Blue Room when the numbers are announced," Warren states. "And then you'll make your way to the East Room to deliver a brief speech."

He's coy about which speech I'll deliver, but there's a gleam in his eye.

"There are about 200 staffers and volunteers already gathered," Eileen reports. "They're anxious to see you."

"But I need to go to the Blue Room first?" I ask.

"Yes, ma'am."

I walk into the room that is littered with confetti. Everyone is on their feet, hugging, cheering or high fiving.

"Did I miss it?"

Blake approaches us with a huge smile. "No, ma'am. But we're getting very close."

Not long after his greeting, other staffers welcome me back into the room with premature congratulations.

"They're acting like this thing is locked in," I comment.

"It's been like this for the past 30 minutes," Diane greets me.

Alex smiles at her mom. "Are you having fun?"

"Tons," she says with an equally large smile. "I never imagined I'd be here for this moment."

I squeeze her arm. "I'm so glad you are."

Three minutes later, I hear a bell ring and shushing sounds as all eyes are focused on one of three televisions in the room.

Anderson Cooper looks at a sheet of paper on the news desk, and then into the camera. "_This just in—President Chapman will win Nevada. I repeat, the President has won the state of Nevada which all but secures her victory to serve our country for another four years_."

Pandemonium breaks out. I hug Alex, and then Eileen, Warren and Stephanie. Diane is next followed by Chris and Jane. It's so loud that I can't hear anyone speak, but I can read their lips: _Congratulations, Madam President_.

I find Alex again, throwing my arms around her. "We did it!"

"_You_ did it. Congratulations, babe."

After about ten minutes of celebration and a few sips of Champagne, I'm ushered into the East Room. Eileen was right—it's packed. Some sort of upbeat music is playing over the speakers and from what I can make out, it's Tina Turner's _Simply the Best_. Warren gives me the speech to read through, and then talks to me about the teleprompters.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

I nod. "Absolutely."

I walk onto stage, and if I thought the crowd was loud before, they are deafening now. It takes five _thank you's_ into the microphone before I'm able to speak.

"Thank you, my fellow Americans, for believing in me—for trusting me." Another round of applause, and I can hardly get through this short speech without pausing every few seconds.

"By re-electing me, you've told the world that we won't stand for hate in the United States of America. We believe in unity, dedication, hard work and love in all its forms," I say. "I still have much to do to serve our great nation, but with another four years ahead, I promise to get the job done and continue to make our country the prosperous, accepting place we've always been. Thank you and God bless these United States of America." I wave at the crowd another few minutes before stepping off the stage.

"That was perfect," Warren greets me.

Eileen smiles. "Well done, ma'am."

Chris hands me a fresh glass of Champagne. "To President Chapman!"

I clink everyone's glass, make a curtain call, and then head back into the Blue Room.

"This is so crazy," Diane says. "I just watched your speech on TV and now you're _here_ in the same room with me."

"It _is_ pretty crazy." I hug her and whisper, "But the best part is yet to come."

I pull back, and she looks confused.

"Can I have your attention please?" I tap a butter knife against my Champagne flute.

When others see that I'm trying to quiet the people in the room, they join in.

"First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for your tireless work on my re-election campaign."

The room of about 30 people whistles and cheers. These are my closest friends, if I can call them that—the people I work with daily and know by their first names. There are a few political allies in the room, too, who staunchly defended my honor when Ian Mayfield tried to rake my name through the mud.

"Some of you were put in intimidating positions." I glance at Oliver Orr and Deborah Lipton. "Yet you stood by me, reminding the public about my track record and telling them I have much left to accomplish for our country." I pause. "No one gets here alone, and I'm eternally grateful to have all of you by my side."

They all cheer again.

"I am honored that you've chosen to serve along with me, and I can't wait to spend the next four years finishing the great work we've started."

Over the applause, I hear another couple of Champagne corks pop.

"I will never forget tonight, but it's not just because I won the election." I pause and survey the room. "About a year and a half ago, I met someone who knocked me off my feet." I feel a sudden blush creep up my neck and to my cheeks.

People start whispering, seeming to search for Alex. I'm fortunate that she's standing about five feet away from me, so I have no trouble finding her in the crowded room.

"Someone whose intellect and wit exceeded my own; someone whose beauty is incomparable to us mere mortals; and someone whose heart is wider than the sea." I smile at her as she adjusts her glasses and appears self-conscious. "I didn't expect to fall in love while I was in office. After Larry died, I had a singular focus on work, which I know wasn't the healthiest decision, but it's a fact. And then I met Alex Vause…"

The room breaks out into applause again with a few people whistling.

My eyes don't leave hers. "I am a better person because of you, Alex. Some might even say I'm a better President because of you."

A few people shout things like _yeah you are_!

"And I'm tired of people calling you my girlfriend, so I thought I'd do something about that." I walk towards her and awkwardly get on one knee. Damn, I should've worn pants. "I can't imagine anyone filling my life and my heart the way you do. Thank you for putting up with me; for being my rock during some pretty tumultuous times, and for ensuring I _always_ lead with my heart." I pull out the ring. "So instead of being referred to as the President's girlfriend, I thought it might sound a little more sincere if they called you my fiancée. Alex Pearl Vause, will you marry me?"

Her hands cover her mouth and I notice a tear stream down her cheek. "_Yes_."

The crowd of only 30 sounds more like the East Room crowd of 200.

She helps me to my feet and embraces me in the best hug I've ever experienced. "I can't believe you just did that," she whispers.

I pull back and kiss her. "You're more important to me than any of this."

She returns the kiss with both hands on the side of my face. "I love you so much, Piper."

"I love you, too."

We hug one more time before I slip the ring on her finger.

She looks at the diamond. "It's stunning."

"I hope you like it."

"It's better than I ever imagined." She kisses me one final time, and then we're greeted with congratulations from everyone nearby.

It was Diane's face I wanted to see the whole time, but my focus was solely on her daughter.

"I can't believe this!" Diane exclaims. "This must be a dream!"

I hug her. "I'm sorry I didn't go all traditional and ask for your blessing."

"You have it tenfold!" She tightens her grip on me. "I'm beyond honored that you love my daughter!"

"I wish I was more prolific with words, because I don't know how to convey what Alex means to me."

A tear slides down her cheek, which, in turn makes me cry a little.

"This means you _have_ to call me Piper from here on out," I tease. "No more Madam President."

"Only if you call me Mom."

"Deal." I kiss her forehead, squeeze her arm, and then get bombarded by other people wanting to shake my hand or hug me.

The celebration continues for another half an hour before I run into Eileen.

"Well, Madam President, you did it."

I jut my head back. "Eileen, are you _tipsy_?"

"I may very well be," she states. "But I'm going to allow it just for tonight."

"Why is that?"

She puts her hands on my shoulders. "Because you've made me so very, _very_ proud, ma'am."

"Really?"

"Really." She nods. "You have more heart and faith and _guts_ than any person I've ever known."

I pull her towards me. "That means the world to me."

"Congratulations, ma'am," she says into my ear. "You deserve all the happiness in the world."

"Thank you."

Stephanie Horowitz approaches us. "In my Jewish background, we call it _chutzpah_."

I laugh and accept her hug. "Thank you for everything, Stephanie."

"It was my sincere pleasure, ma'am." She smiles. "I'm thrilled that you get to lead our country for another four years."

* * *

An hour later, the room has cleared out substantially, and it's my understanding that some of them joined the larger crowd in the East Room and some found a quieter place to watch the election returns from some of the closer House and Senate races.

"Not exactly the way I imagined getting engaged." Alex breezes over with a pronounced smirk. "Or that if it ever happened, _you_ would be the one doing the whole down-on-a-knee thing."

I crane my neck up to kiss her. "I'll give you a do-over in private."

"Deal." She sways with me as if we're dancing, but there's no music. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I did." I string an arm over her shoulder. "You?"

She places a hand on my hip. "Tons."

Maybe there _is_ music—or is it that the way we're moving so in sync that it only _feels_ like dancing?

"Where's your mom?"

"She was exhausted so I told her she should get some sleep," she replies. "Hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all."

I insisted that both Alex and her mom stay the night with me long before any of this transpired. Even though I'm tired, I'm confident Alex and I will make love tonight, and I'm glad her mom's room is the furthest one away from mine.

She brushes my hair off a shoulder. "Are you almost ready to turn in, or do you want to celebrate a little longer?"

I tilt my head. "I could be persuaded it call it a night."

She kisses my exposed skin. "How might I persuade you?"

"You're doing a fine job as it is," I stifle a moan.

She pulls back. "Why don't you make your rounds, and then meet me upstairs?"

I kiss her once more. "I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Ok." She holds out her left hand. "My ring and I will be waiting for you."

After saying another round of _thank you's_ to the few remaining guests, I walk with my Secret Service detail back to my residence.

"Congratulations, Madam President," Agent Spencer says.

"Thank you." I stare up at her. "Looks like you're stuck with me for another four years."

"It's a privilege, ma'am."

We turn the corner.

"But I didn't mean congratulations on your re-election alone," she states. "I'm happy for you and Ms. Vause."

I'm _shocked_ she'd be so forthcoming. "Thanks."

Agent Spencer issues a tiny grin. "My wife and I are big fans of your relationship and the way you've handled it."

"Oh…ok, wow. Thank you." I smile widely. "Maybe when I'm no longer the sitting President or if you ever get tired of being a Secret Service agent, we could have dinner together."

"That would be special, ma'am," she says. "But until then, that's all you'll hear from me on the matter." She stops at the entrance to my room. "Good night, Madam President."

"Good night, Sarah."

The smile on her face after I call her by her given name is enough to light up a room.

I walk into my bedroom, shut the door and see Alex standing next to the bed in sweatpants and my Smith t-shirt, admiring her ring.

"You've worn that shirt more than I have," I comment.

She lowers her hand. "Then you should just give it to me."

"I'll give it to you as soon as you give me your rainbow boyshorts."

She shrugs. "Consider them yours."

I pick up her hand and stare at the ring. "Do you really like it?"

"I can't imagine a more perfect ring." She wiggles her fingers as we watch the diamond sparkle. "When did you buy it?"

"On the way back from my two-week campaign trip," I say, slipping out of my dress. "I'd started looking at rings online about a month ago, but it wasn't until just before Halloween when I saw this one at a jewelry shop in Charlotte. As luck would have it, I was flying out of Charlotte to head back to DC and had some time to kill, so I asked Agent Paulson if we could make a little detour."

"Were you alone?"

I pull on my pajama top. "No, the usual suspects were with me."

"What did they say?"

"Lots of congratulations." I shrug. "I don't think Warren enjoyed our little outing, but he congratulated me."

"And Eileen?"

I remove my makeup with a wipe. "She has always liked you, Alex," I begin. "The only reason she's been a tough critic is because of my re-election campaign and because she didn't want me to be distracted from leading the country." I tell her about Eileen's sincere congratulations just moments earlier. "I'm not going to ask her to be a bridesmaid or anything, but she's happy for me—for _us_."

Alex scoots over in bed. "This whole thing has been surreal."

"It has." I turn out the lights in favor of the lamp on the bedside table and crawl next to her. "Are you happy?"

"Ecstatic." She beams at me. "Thank you for trusting me…for loving me."

"Same." I smile.

"So what will people call me after we tie the knot?" She slinks lower into the bed, pulling the covers over her chest but still gazing at her ring.

I get under the covers, tossing a leg over Alex's. "Good question."

"Will I be the First Lady?"

I chuckle, holding her hand higher so I can watch the diamond glisten. "I guess…"

We talk about political terms of respect while simultaneously yawning as the emotions of the day catch up with us. I wrap my arms around her, thinking about how far Alex and I have come and what we've survived to get here, and my lips tick up. Then I think about my future—_our_ future—and what lies ahead. I'm not foolish enough to think it'll be all sunshine and roses from here on out, but with Alex by my side, I'm ready to face anything.

I quietly drift off to sleep. If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up.

The End

* * *

Author's Note: This story is finally put to bed at 225 pages in Word! Thanks to each of you who were thoughtful enough to leave a review. I loved writing this story and am happy with this ending. I'm sure some of you will ask for a sequel, but I don't have it in me—at least not now. I'm going to do my best to write a Christmas fic before December 25, so that's where my energy will be. One more little note: I was going to end this story with Piper being woken up in prison by Alex, telling her she had the strangest dream, but I decided to let it play out as "reality" as it were. Thanks again!


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